The Child of Azkaban
by HazelVex
Summary: ADOPTED
1. Prologue: Tap, Tap, Tap

**Prologue- Tap, Tap, Tap…**

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Just a few more and they'll be back again.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

They're coming. They always come.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Yes, the screams are starting.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

The plan. Remember the plan.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"I have to warn you Minister…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"…he may not be right in the head. He's been silent for a while."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Ooh, this is interesting. Are they talking about little old me?

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"We can't keep him in here much longer…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"…not when he's innocent. And worse the rest of the…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"…wizarding world knows it."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Clink.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

The cell door dragged open.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Hello Minister. Guard Jenkins."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Ah," the man stuttered. "Ha…Harry, my boy. Dreadfully sorry about all this terrible business."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Apologies?" He giggled. "Ooh, it's too late for that Minister. How old was I when you first sent me here?"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"S…six."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"And how old am I now?"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"E…Eleven tomorrow," the Minister paled dramatically, making Harry cock his head to the side.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Five years," he tutted. "Tut, tut."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"New evidence on your case has come up. It wasn't you."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

A maniacal grin twisted itself onto the boy's face.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Really?" he drawled slowly.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

The Minister swallowed.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"I'll…I'll explain more when we get back to the mainland."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

He stood up.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Better get going then, shouldn't we Minister?"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Y…Yes."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"After you."

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

The pathetic, cowering man shuffled out of the cell; he found it adorable.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Guard Jenkins cocked his head to side. Time to go.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Harry stood and strolled easily out of the cell, giving a short salute to his fellow inmates.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Out of the high security…

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

Out. Out. Out.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

He stepped into the boat and looked back.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

The green eyes froze over, a threatening light glinting behind the frozen sheets.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"I'll come back for you," he whispered.

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"I'll come back, by magic I do swear…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"We'll reign in Darkness…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"Fealty to Him, by magic I do swear…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"The Dark Lord will rise again…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"To this, by magic I do swear…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"I'll come back for you girlie…"

 _Tap, Tap, Tap._

"We'll kill them all, by magic I do swear."

The tapping stopped.


	2. Chapter 1: Tick, Tick, Tick

**Chapter 1- Tick, Tick, Tick**

The world sped by as the train flew across the tracks through the countryside. London had melted away hours ago, being shortly replaced with the beginnings of the Scottish countryside. Moors, lakes, mountainous hills, rivers, all insignificant specks on the landscapes when it came to looking to what the train's destination actually was, or rather, the final destination of the students on board.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He wasn't sure how he felt about this. On one hand he was glad, he had chance to learn and would have access to the school's extensive library that would only seek to aid him in his mission. But on the other he would be surrounded by children who didn't even know the meaning of the word hardship, who were incompetent and whiny. He wasn't even able to escape the unfortunate accident that was his twin brother; Saeviour.

Saeviour Sirius Potter; The-Boy-Who-Lived; his older twin; the saviour of the wizarding world; the boy destined to defeat the Dark Lord. Harry snorted. He had seen the boy's magical aura and it was pathetic, barely even reaching that of an average wizard and added to the brat's work ethic, the wizarding world was damned. But Harry preferred it that way. It was just one less thing to worry about.

He had a mission to do, he would not become distracted by years of bitterness and hate. He had to get her out; _them_ out. And there was only one person who could help him do that and if the whispers were anything to go by, he was still alive but close to dying. He just had to find him. And restore him to full strength.

This in itself wasn't easy as it would most likely involve him sneaking out of the castle undetected; ergo he had to get rid of the trace; ergo, he would be visiting the restricted section of the library and taking part in highly illegal activities. Including those that involved finding the Chamber of Secrets and seeing if Slytherin had left behind any books that may have been of use, but, that was sort of a side project for now.

He looked up as the compartment door opened and saw a blonde standing in the frame. It took him a moment but he identified the boy as a Malfoy, and if Lestrange's insane ramblings was anything to go by, their only son and heir. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he instead rolled up his sleeves and gave a small nod of his head towards the young Malfoy. The blonde smirked and walked in, sitting down across from him.

"So Azkaban didn't erase you of your manners then," he drawled.

Harry gave him a cool look. "No, if anything they have improved. The Dementors are very nasty when they don't get their way." _And Bellatrix,_ he added in his head but didn't think the blonde would like that extra comment very much, Lestrange being his aunt and all.

"Tell me, did you ever see my aunt?" the Malfoy questioned. "Bellatrix Lestrange, perhaps you've heard of her?"

"Of course," Harry said, his voice clearly bored. "We shared a cell for some time, although she got moved to the one opposite after they caught us duelling."

The Malfoy's eyebrows rose with such speed Harry wondered how they had not just shot off his face. "Duelling?"

"Well there wasn't much else to do," Harry said dryly. "Except have your happiest memories sucked out by the prison guards."

"No, of course not," Malfoy said quickly. "I apologise; it was tactless of me."

Harry shrugged before holding out his hand, "Scion Harrison Potter, although I'd beg you to ignore the Potter bit."

Malfoy looked at him curiously, shaking the hand. "Heir Draco Malfoy, but you can call me Draco, Scion Potter."

"In that case, you may call me Harry."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, during which Harry returned to his book, but his attention never left Draco Malfoy, he seemed to be squirming over something. Slowly closing the book, he narrowed his eyes.

"If there is something you wish to ask, please, go ahead and ask."

"Were there any other prisoners our age?" Draco blurted, seemingly unable to control himself.

"No," Harry said softly. "But there was one younger…"

Draco's eyes looked horrified. "Who…who were they?"

"Elladora Cynthia Lestrange." Harry turned his head away, staring out at the world rushing past. "I'd rather not talk about this anymore…"

"Just one more question," Draco said. "Please, I have to know…"

Harry studied him; a Malfoy _never_ begged. "Just one," he conceded.

"What did she do?"

The question hung in the air, as Harry looked at the blonde for a long time. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Draco nodded.

"When her parents were captured she was taken from Lestrange Manor by Albus Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice completely neutral; giving away nothing. "She was placed in a muggle orphanage. She was labelled as a freak, a demon, and her magic reacted badly when they tried to cleanse her; she killed seven muggles and two others were injured in the blast. She was three years old…"

"Cleansed her?" Draco repeated warily.

"Exorcism."

"Shit.

Harry gave him a half-hearted amused glance. "Shit indeed."

They sat in silence. Harry continued reading his book but found he could not concentrate with the Malfoy Heir fidgeting uncomfortably before him. He snapped his fingers and a book appeared in his hand, which he promptly chucked at the heir. Draco caught it before snapping round to the ex-prisoner before him, his eyes angry.

"What did you do that for?"

"You looked uncomfortable," Harry said simply. "So I thought I'd lend you a book- no, scratch that- you can keep the book; it rightly belongs to you anyway."

"Oh, thank you." Draco turned the book over and smirked slightly at the title. "The Tales of Beedle and Bard?"

"It was Ella's favourite book," Harry said quietly. "That's her copy too, I thought you might like it."

Draco stared at the slightly scuffed book in his hands. "You were allowed books in Azkaban?" he said hoarsely.

"No," Harry said stiffly. "I have an eidetic memory. I used to tell them to her when she couldn't sleep."

There was an uneasy pause in which the two just looked at each other; Harry broke it by curtly returning to his book. After a moment, Draco flipped open the cover of his own and began reading the children's stories that riddled his childhood. He wasn't sure what to make of Harry, but he knew one thing; Harry Potter cared for his cousin and had told him the truth- that was all he needed in his mind.

.

He sniffed at the unorganised chaos around him; the complete and utter lack of decorum. Students shoved this way and that, laughing loudly, shouting and whistling cat calls at the prettier girls. Only the Slytherins showed any signs of dignity and that in itself was a small mercy swamped by the other three houses. Clumped together before him were the quivering first years, all seemingly terrified of what awaited them. He snarled; they didn't even know the meaning of it.

His twin stood right at the front, a cocky grin of superiority done wrong on his face. The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Him had a Weasley hanging off his every word as well as bushy haired girl that seemed to be spouting off a hundred facts per second as they followed the lumbering oaf with the lantern. Was this really what the most prestigious wizarding school in Europe had to offer?

If it was, he was disgusted.

He walked alongside Draco, who appeared, along with a few others, to share his thoughts. Although he could detect, behind the confident swagger, a trace of nerves. He supposed it was natural; no Malfoy had been put anywhere other than Slytherin. At least, that is what he had been led to believe.

As they slipped and stumbled down a narrow path- Harry did no such thing and walked as though it was a perfectly even marble floor- the oaf continued to talk to them, his accent tainting his words enough for Harry to even question whether or not the man was speaking English. He supposed he was, considering he could at least pick out the gist of what he was saying. Something about Hogwarts being round the corner.

And it was. The castle itself was a lot more impressive than the state of its students. Towers reached for the heavens, their windows glowing with golden warmth, and the old stone reached out with embedded magic, welcoming its children home. The only thing that stood between them and the castle was a crystal cut lake and little wooden boats without oars. Harry tensed; he could guess what was going to happen next.

"No more than four ter a boat!" the oaf, Hagrid he believed he was called, roared over the heads.

Harry had never been fond of water. He remembered all too strongly the storm in which he was brought to Azkaban and the aurors escorting him had taken far too much pleasure in allowing him to drown before they dragged him back out of the angry depths; he had been six years old. Six. And they had thought him a monster.

He warily stepped into the boat, sitting down, straight backed- not allowing his unease to show. Draco and two beefy boys that looked like Dumber and Dumber 2 sat down in the boat with him, and they all waited for whatever came next. With a sudden lurch, the boats floated forwards; Hagrid's slowly sinking one leading the way. Harry just about stopped breathing.

If he was anyone else, he would've burst into tears of relief as they touched the shore. But he wasn't. He did, however, allow himself to relax his muscles and a little sigh. And then it was all back; his posture, his mask and his 'mad' glint in his eyes. All part of the plan.

They were led up flights of stone steps and into a small room, before being promptly abandoned to the fate of the stern emerald robed witch before them. She had a pinched face a grey hair that was scraped back tightly into a knot; Harry saw, unlike those around him, the kind flecks in her eyes and the lines around them that showed she was actually capable of smiling and laughing. But she still wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, eyeing them all with her neutral gaze. "Now, in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates, but before you take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Now while you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup.

"In a few minutes the Sorting Ceremony will begin- I suggest you smarten yourselves up a bit whilst you're waiting." Her eyes lingered on the smudge of dirt on Ron Weasley's nose and the hastily, incorrectly, clasped robe of Neville Longbottom's.

Harry watched her leave through narrowed eyes before taking the opportunity to study his classmates. Ron Weasley was in robes that had been handed down one too many times and wore unfortunately visible battered trainers. Evidently he took little pride in his appearance and had a look about him that suggested laziness. A little behind him, prattling on at a hundred words a minute to his _dear brother_ , was a bushy haired Mudblood; a Ravenclaw if he'd ever seen one. Although, she'd annoy even the bookworms with her obsession of reciting textbooks to ease her… A loud shriek interrupted his train of thought and he turned at more screams and gasps to see a group of ghosts floating through the wall.

"They do this, every year," a hoarse, chilling voice said at his shoulder.

Harry resisted the urge to flinch and turned his head to see another ghost, but perhaps the most haunting out of all of them. He was handsome though his face was of stone and his eyes a personal frozen over hell. His robes were stained and bloodied with a tear in that general area.

"And what about you? Do you come to scare the first years every year?" Harry asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"Not every year," the ghost said. "Only when it interests me." The ghost eyed him. "You are the epitome of my house, Scion Potter; you seem to be very carefully thought out."

"Wouldn't want to give myself away now, do I?" he replied. "And _your_ house?"

"The Bloody Baron," the ghost introduced. "Ghost of Slytherin House."

"I see…" Harry studied the ghost more closely, "Do you not have a name of your own?"

"I did once but even that has got lost in time," the Baron said morosely. "I bid you farewell Scion Potter- I look forward to seeing you amongst my house."

He watched the ghost go thoughtfully as the other spectres left, exiting through the opposite wall. He was not given much chance to think too much on the enigma, as the bane of his existence called up his name in conversation.

" _What?_ How could they even let him into the school?" the Mudblood whispered in horror.

"The Ministry are claiming false-imprisonment," Saeviour informed the bookworm all too eagerly. "That a new light has come up on the case. But I know better…they should've left him to rot…"

He felt his fists clench; his cold emeralds blazing like the fiery depths of hell of which many claimed he heralded from. The Avada Kedavra green curling and flicking, just _begging_ to be allowed to have a go at the source of their anger, their _hatred._

"Perhaps they should have, _dear brother_ ," he interrupted coolly, earning a startled gasp from the Mudblood. "At least then I wouldn't have to put up with _you_ , and…" he eyed the girl with disdain, "…your vapid companions. Surely the little Mudblood can form her own opinions rather than ooh and gasp at your less than stimulating conversation?"

He almost laughed at the reaction he caused. He had no doubt that his gormless brother only understood the little derogatory word he had slipped in, whereas the Mudblood had understood everything except that. But whilst she fumed, Saeviour held a wand to his face; pitiful.

"Mr Potter!" a stern voice snapped. "Put that away this instant."

Growling, Saeviour did as he was told, turning to face the deputy headmistress. Professor McGonagall looked down at her soon to be lion, as The-Boy-Who-Forgot-To-Die could end up nowhere else, with somewhat forced anger. Her hardened eyes flickered to himself and he gave her a charming smile in return; she flinched. She had not forgotten what he had been falsely imprisoned for.

"Form a line, quickly now," Professor McGonagall ordered, her wary eyes never leaving his.

The crowd were quick to obey and pushed and shoved their way into a line; none of them wanted to be first. Harry dropped the gaze with the Deputy Headmistress, ducking his head to hide a scowl. He could not afford to live under suspicion just yet; it was rightly placed suspicion, but it wasn't wanted. Not in the slightest.

"Follow me."

The Great Hall was something to be held in the same light as the exterior view of the castle. The stone walls basked in the orange haze that was emitted in glowing waves from the tips of the candles that floated above the sea of black robes. Four long tables stood perpendicular to the table that sat the teachers on a raised platform; the students sitting at them divided into four houses; Gryffindor, the house of the brave; Hufflepuff, the house of the loyal; Ravenclaw, the house of the smart; Slytherin, the house of the cunning. Plates made from metals suiting the houses accordingly were lined up along with matching forks and goblets, waiting patiently for the feast to begin. Before the teachers' table was a rickety wooden stool, which upon sat a dirty hat and a roll of parchment.

Professor McGonagall left them at a halt in-between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw houses, before stepping up to the stool and taking the roll of parchment into her hands. Then, the rip in the dirty old hat stretched open, and began to sing…

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Harry just about resisted the urge to sneer as the Hat finished its song and the hall erupted into applause, though the Slytherins looked rather reluctant to do so. As the applause died out, Professor McGonagall lifted the Hat into the air, the parchment now unrolled and floating before her.

"When I call your name," she began, her voice clear. "You will come forth to be sorted." After a moment's pause she continued. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A blonde girl with pigtails nervously hurried forward and sat down on the stool. The hat was on her head for a mere few seconds before it called out,

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry's gaze followed the new badger to the cheering table, before snapping back to the task at hand. Already more names were being called out, though Harry paid little attention. He was instead internally fretting on whether or not the Sorting Hat could give him away. He had faith in his Occlumency shields, of course, he was taught by the best Azkaban had to offer, but he was sure the four founders had thought of that little tit bit and found a way for the Hat to get past them with little difficulty.

"Potter, Harrison!"

The effect was instant as the hall fell into a cool silence and the lighting took on an eerie look. A smirk caused a twitch at the side of his mouth, and he allowed the madness within to cause a gleam in his eyes. He had a part to play after all.

He walked with perfect, lither grace up to the rickety old stool and with a graceful twirl, he sat down. The Hat was lowered onto his head, blocking out the rest of the world with old, dirty material infused with a magic almost as old as the castle. The side of his mouth twitched again.

" _Can you tell anyone anything that you see in my mind?"_ He was straight to the point, there was no point dancing around the subject. The Hat would see it anyway.

" _No, that was one thing Rowena and Salazar was very clear on when they first made me,"_ the Hat said. " _I am sure that comes as a great relief to you, considering what you plan to do._ "

" _Of course,_ " Harry answered. " _But I feel anyone would be relieved to know that they're innermost thoughts could not be shared with the likes of the headmaster or their fellow students._ "

" _You were wronged at such a young age_ ," the Hat murmured. _"Normally I would say not to go about revenge but…I see the revenge you intend to bring about is something the wizarding world much needs. Many of the wizards and witches of old would turn in their graves at seeing how magic is shunned in these times._ "

" _It is truly disgusting_ ," he agreed. _"Muggleborns and the like have poisoned our world with their prejudiced ways for too long, just as weak minded individuals in power have bent over backwards to them for too long. I am sure I would be turning in my grave with them."_

" _It is strange, don't you think, that they imprisoned you falsely for murder, but now that they have you released you, you intend to go about just that._ "

" _If they had wished me not to, they shouldn't have imprisoned me. Or perhaps I would have done so anyway simply because I had begun to loathe my parents even before my incarceration…That is something to muse about."_

" _I would not spend too long on that_ ," the Hat advised. " _You already know that I shall send you to Slytherin, and I see you wish to seek out the Chamber. My advice is to seek out the man who made it first, for only he will be able to tell you where it is in the little time you have."_

" _And how will I find him?"_

" _Slytherins always stick to their own."_

" _Hmm…"_

" _It was a pleasure looking into your mind Scion Potter, it was certainly a refreshing change."_

" _Glad my mind could be of service."_

" _Remember my advice Scion Potter…"_ The Hat pulled out of his mind and shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

As the Hat was removed from his head by a trembling hand, he looked out upon the silent, still hall. Inclining his head to them all, he walked over to Slytherin table with the same grace he had walked up to the stool with, as they slowly began to clap, each move controlled and dignified. Harry allowed a smirk to grace his features. He had, after all, earnt it.


	3. Chapter 2: When Tomorrow Comes

**Chapter 2- When Tomorrow Comes**

The feast, if that is what it was to be called, was under way. Riotous laughter and shouts could be heard from the Gryffindor table, cheerful exclamations from Hufflepuff, organised arguments from Ravenclaw and cool, perfect etiquette released little sound from Slytherin. They had a reputation to uphold. They would not lower themselves to such a level. It made a very, very real mad glint appear in his cold _Avada-Kedavra_ eyes.

His sleeves were rolled up to show he knew perfectly well that there were those around him of higher station than himself. The ghost of his smirk still lingered on his sharp, pale features. His back was straight, his posture perfect just as the dear inmates of Azkaban had taught him. And oh, how he delighted in the way he unnerved those around him. All, except for Draco it seemed.

He slowly tore his bread roll, his eyes calculating those around him. Some shivered as his gaze fell upon them…one girl whimpered though she would deny it later.

"Quit terrorizing our house mates," Draco said, his eyes dancing with amusement.

Harry's eyes slowly dragged themselves up to meet Draco's gaze. "I don't know what you mean," he drawled. "I'm simply assessing their… _lives._ "

His play on words made one or two first years scoot further away from him. He wanted to laugh, he did, but that moment was to be saved for a truly special occasion. He hadn't, after all, laughed properly since he was just six years old. How times changed.

"Hmm?" Draco said. "And what have you deducted?"

He was not oblivious. Much of the house leaned in slightly, eager to hear what he had to say so…naturally he took his time in giving his answer. He had not interacted with people in some time; he did not count the Potters nor their associates as people.

"That boy there, the one who is poorly trying to hide the hickey on his neck," Harry started, inclining his head to a dark haired boy of about seventeen, "Had an affair with another girl over the summer and is _desperately_ trying to hide it from his girlfriend, whom, he sits across." There was a low gasp. "I would judge his life as about a three, maybe a four if I was feeling generous. Women are not toys, they are not to be used, and therefore should not be treated as such." A feral grin drew up the corner of his mouth. "Especially for sex."

One boy coughed, hastily trying to hide his choking on the pumpkin juice his goblet so readily provided.

A first year, Theodore Nott he believed he was called, looked at him curiously though warily. "How did you know that, if it is indeed right?"

"Magic," he answered blandly.

Really now, he was not going to give away all his cards, especially the one where he revealed he could use Legilimency with ease; such a useful talent. Especially since he had merged with the blood of his inmates, something he was sure he would be grateful for in the near future.

The rest of the meal was rather droll after that. The boy that he had picked on spent it cringing away from his girlfriend, or rather, _ex-_ girlfriend, who was hissing angrily at him through a cool, perfectly placed mask of indifference. The rest put forth their start of year power plays in mentions of how their summers had gone and the first years… They simply tried to gain allies and a form of social standing; many grasping desperately at the robes of one Draco Malfoy. Harry simply observed, he would get what he wanted without the need of grovelling. He only needed the help of one man and he was certainly not going to be found posing as a student in Slytherin House.

The Dark Lord did have some dignity after all.

Silence fell across the hall as the headmaster stood, his damned blue eyes twinkling as he smiled beneath that infuriating beard.

"Ahem- just a few more words now we have all been fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you.

"First-years should note that the forest found on the grounds is strictly forbidden to all pupils, and a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch or their Heads of Houses.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to all those who do not wish to die a most painful death."

Harry's eyes narrowed and few around him nervously laughed as prefects were warily questioned. He took it as a sign that his was rare and resolved to investigate as soon as possible; it could prove very beneficial for him to do so if a painful death was the result of failure. People rarely guarded unimportant things to quite that extreme.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore cried, drawing his wand. "Everyone pick a tune and let's go."

Teachers smiles became fixed and the entirety of Slytherin table clamped their mouths shut in rather firm lines as lyrics appeared before them in cursive ribbons and the other three houses sang, or at least that is what one would call it if one were feeling generous.

" _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy, Warty Hogwarts_

" _Teach us something please_

" _Whether we be old and bald_

" _Or young with scabby knees_

" _Our heads could do with filling_

" _With some interesting stuff_

" _For now they're bare and full of air_

" _Dead flies and bits of fluff_

" _So teach us things worth knowing_

" _Bring back what we've forgot_

 _Just do your best, we'll do the rest_

 _And learn until our brains all rot."_

Much of Slytherin sneered as the students all finished at different paces, the Weasley twins finishing last at a slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with an unnecessary flourish and once all fell silent, he was one of those who clapped the loudest. Harry surprised much of Slytherin by clapping also, though his was one of mocking sarcasm, a bored look on his face.

"Ah, music," sighed the meddlesome fool, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Cool and collected as they should be, Slytherin House stood, the prefects ushering the first years to flock before them, and they left calmly rather than the rushed madness that ensued when the other houses attempted to leave through the wide double doors. Harry ducked his head so that no-one could hear the insane giggle that escaped him or see the terrifyingly mad grin that had formed on his face. He was in. He'd been sorted. And oh, let the games begin.

.

He sat in the windowsill beside his bed, looking out into the depths of the Black Lake as his dorm-mates slept. They had been split into two groups, the boys, and he had found himself in a dorm with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zambini. He was pleased. They at least had the intelligence to converse pleasantly with, unlike the two aspiring trolls, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.

Unbeknownst to everyone except one, the young survivor had a haunting singing voice like no other. It was not beautiful and nor was it unpleasant, it just was and it pulled and tugged at your very core, bowing and submitting it to listen and to drown in its watery depths. It was. It had been. And it would be. It was a soul, a voice, magic at its purest and so it sung, deep into the night.

" _I wish that I had known in that first minute we met, the unpayable debt that I owed you._

 _'Cause you'd been abused by that bone that refused you, and you hired me to make up for that."_

Unknowingly, the two sleeping boys shivered in their sleep as the melody, the lyrics, bled into their dreams, casting a haunting outlook as they slept on. And still the young survivor continued, almost hoping that the intended could hear, and draw comfort from the fact he had not forgotten and he would never forget.

" _Walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms, those singing morphine alarms out of tune._

 _They kept you sleeping and even, and I didn't believe them when they called you a hurricane thunderclap."_

His usually cold eyes were glazed and full of raw power and emotion and no-one had never and could never see him; not in this private moment. It was not to be shared.

" _When I was checking vitals I suggested a smile. You didn't talk for a while, you were freezing._

 _You said you hated my tone, it made you feel so alone, and so you told me I ought to be leaving."_

He gave a shuddering breath that rattled his bones and everyone else's. He had learnt from the best. The Dementors. His endless torment…

" _But something kept me standing by that hospital bed, I should have quit but instead I took care of you._

 _You made me sleep all uneven, and I didn't believe them when they told me that there was no saving you._ "

He leant back, his head resting against the stone wall, eyes looking up to the heavens as if begging for an answer to the prayers he had given since he was six years old. A single tear escaped, rolling down the hollow cheeks; a memory of a life once lived, and emotion once felt, and a family he once had.

Harrison James Potter.

And tomorrow, the last line to a family he hated, who had hurt him beyond repair, would be snapped. And his last cord that held him up would break.

.

Thousands of miles away, across an angry grey ocean and beneath a sky the colour of a pain and despair, and under attack from the storms that raged on behalf of the prisoners, the inmates of Azkaban prison began to scream as life was stripped away from them. The maddening glint in their eyes was dull and became duller still as they clawed at their skin, the stone walls, stone floors, iron bars, iron manacles that had long been out of use.

A girl, just eight-years-old stilled, her blank eyes staring up at the endless grey, her lips slightly parted in an ended, silent scream. Tears slipped under heavy eyelashes as the melody washed over her. It was as if he was there, running a hand through her dirty blonde curls, promising her something better, a land where the sun shone and the people laughed.

Her broken, bleeding nails scraped at the rock beneath her as she lay alone, the screams of her world echoing and shrieking around her as they swooped down, just begging for a reason; the kiss is what they wanted as they slowly drank them dry.

Elladora Cynthia Lestrange.

And tomorrow, it would come again, they would come again. An endless cycle with but hours to recover in-between. To imagine being held by her father who was but cells away. To imagine being pulled close by her mother who just out of reaching distance, as she had always had been. As he had always had been. To be stuck in this never-ending hell with only a promise to keep her moving forward.


	4. Chapter 3: The Black and The Terrors

**Chapter 3- The Black and The Terrors**

Knockturn Alley played host to all manner of establishments; shady shops, illegal brokers and dealings, inns, brothels, opium dens… Wherever you'd find someone not wanting to be found, the little alley would have it. It was the land claimed by the Dark Creatures otherwise hunted, the Dark wizards and witches with something to hide, the fugitives on the run, the many that needed to acquire something and couldn't afford to do so by legal means. It was the black market of the wizarding world.

A small pub, tucked away in the corner, invited the more solitary and shadowed of characters. The Murder Inn was a place where visitors drunk themselves to death; drowned away the memories and thoughts that plagued them; cured their constant stream of self-destroying intelligence and cynical outlook on life with the un-prescribed drugs- usually brought in from the muggle world; the ones chased out by society with the slandering of names and the targeting of faces. The Murder Inn currently played host to Sirius Black.

The dark haired, silver-eyed man nursed a bottle of Firewhisky; swimming in the thoughts of his past. As a child, he never had the allowance to be a child. He was the heir for the most prominent and powerful family in Britain and many other countries too; the son of Walburga Black, a woman who was difficult to get along with at the best of times; a boy who discarded teachings out of stubborn spite. He went out of his way to 'shame' his family name; to throw away their teachings. A child throwing a temper tantrum.

And oh, how he had _paid_ for refusing them.

No-one ever could look past the surname and the one person he thought had done so betrayed him for the simple fact Sirius _wasn't making him look good._ It left a bitter taste in his mouth as he thought about it. How he had been let down, after he had given _everything._

 _*FLASHBACK*_

" _I want you gone Sirius."_

 _A cold, shocked, unsettled feeling formed in his stomach as he stared at his best friend. "I'm sorry?" His voice was evident with disbelief._

 _James spun around and glared at the abandoned Black with accusing eyes. "You've heard what Harry did! You've_ seen _it. What the papers are saying…" The Lord's eyes hardened. "Having a pet Black does not look good. I got away with it when we were kids but your name precedes you Sirius."_

" _So you're ditching me because of my family tree?" Sirius snarled. "Guess what, Potter? Your mother was a Black, too! Are you going to disown all knowledge of her?"_

" _Don't say a word against my mother!" James roared._

 _They glared at each other in silence for a long time; each with different notions, different reasons for the hatred that passed between them now._

" _I thought you were different James," Sirius spat. "That you could look past the surname… But apparently_ not _."_

" _It's a bit suspicious don't you think?" James sneered, taking a step forward. "You were spending a lot of time with Harry near the end. Always by his side, whispering in his ear… And then_ this _happens. It's hard to look past the surname when you think just like the rest of them."_

 _Sirius growled._ Now _he understood what this was about. "In that case, Potter, I'd best watch where you step. I'm sure you've heard of what happens to the people that_ displease _us."_

" _Get out Black. Leave. Now. And don't you ever come back."_

 _Sirius smirked, cocking his head to the side. A beautiful shred of insanity marking his features; the Black family madness settling in. "With pleasure."_

 _*END OF FLASHBACK*_

He had run back to his family after that, a state of tears and sorrow- begging for forgiveness. Willing to learn what he should've learnt all those years ago. They had accepted him, even if it was to gain back their heir. To use him as a spoil of war. To replace the ones, they lost to Azkaban. They raised him back up from the ground he had been left on. He'd turned his back on James forever; on all of it; the Marauders, Lily, Saeviour…

Sirius realised now just what a fool he had been; he had thrown a tantrum for years- not willing to listen. And once he had, he knew just how right his family was. Muggles were a dangerous stain on the Earth; they needed to be separated and quickly. Mudbloods had to be taken from birth, if only to stop the muggle pollutions that infected their world like a disease; stripping away their rights and traditions. And if the Ministry wasn't going to do it- then they had to turn to the one person who would. And that was Lord Voldemort.

There was one person he refused to turn his back on, however… Harrison.

Sirius was not a fool; he knew the child hadn't done what he had been imprisoned for. But he also knew that the boy had been the unwanted twin for a very long time before the incident had occurred. And that Harry had known it. Always living in his brother's shadow. Always being ignored in favour for the saviour that had been so aptly named. Sirius often wondered if that had been how Regulus felt, but he always pushed such a thought away; what was done was done. There was no love lost between the youngest Potter and the rest.

Growing up in Azkaban would not have been easy for him, and if anything would only help the hate flourish. Influenced by the Death Eaters around him, he would learn all the politics, the principles, the ways of the Pureblood circles and he would undoubtedly choose the side of Lord Voldemort. There was no room for anything else; if anything Harry would join the Dark Lord simply for revenge on the world that had left him behind to rot. To die.

Sirius took a sip of the bitter fiery liquid, a grimace forming on his face. A plan, or the foundations of one, danced in his mind as the thought on how best to contact his godson. Would he even want anything to do with him? Surely he knew by now that Sirius was estranged just as much as he was. James had probably gloated about his first day back; 'Look, you don't even _have_ a godfather anymore because he's just like you. An insane psychopath.'

Sirius knew from his protégés in Hogwarts that the eleven-year-old had been sorted into Slytherin; outwardly displayed a cold, mad look; was unpredictable; kept everyone on edge with the way he handled himself; no-one ever knew when he was going to snap. And it was only the first night at the prestigious school.

However, the two he mentored could also see the calculating way the boy looked at things. The empty, angry, hateful shell inside the hardened exterior. Azkaban had cursed him in many more ways than the questioning sanity- that much was obvious to them. However, however, however… Harry played his part in such a way that you could never be sure if that was part of the part he played.

Sirius knew his protégés were good at what they did, and very well versed in their own roles; their own acts. But they were still learning and had the much easier, later approach than most in Slytherin were given. He still remembered how he had met them.

Unbeknownst to the other Marauders, Sirius had added one more spell to the Map. Just a little one, one that allowed him to get the feel of whoever stumbled across it when they left. The fact that his link with Map showed him a pair of identical, Dark signatures that were angry and resentful to their own blood was a surprise. But not as much as a surprise when he discovered who the new owners really were.

Fred and George Weasley.

The twins were disillusioned with their muggle-loving father and their over-bearing mother and the propaganda spat out by the ever patent Ministry. The two were ambitious and wanted more than the hand-me-downs they received because their father cared more for muggles than the dignity, welfare and pride of his own family. They wanted _more_ and they were sneaky and clever enough to get it, if only given the handshake they needed.

Sirius had given them that handshake.

He had called to them using the Map- choosing to meet with them at the very same pub he sat in now. Venturing so far into Knockturn Alley was both a test and an assurance to them both that they would not be seen by their cursed family in the presence of a Black, specifically one whose falling out with the House of Potter had reached front page news but a few years ago.

The twins had been wary at first but gradually warmed up to the idea; to _him._ It helped, of course, that he revealed that he was indeed Padfoot, the joint record holder for the most amount of detentions and points lost at Hogwarts for three centuries.

"Speak of the little shits and they doth appear," Sirius muttered, his grey eyes flicking toward the ginger terrors as they approached his corner.

"You know…" Fred began.

"That isn't quite how it goes," George finished, the pair sliding into the booth.

"Like I care," Sirius said smoothly, swirling his bottle. "My version is much more fitting for the pair of _you_."

"I'm insulted…"

"I know Fred; you'd think after everything we've done…"

"That we do, brother, that we do…"

Sirius rolled his eyes at the twins' commentary. They did it much too often and when they put their minds to it, could be extremely unnerving. This occasion, however, they were using it to be annoying and to display some humour; Sirius supposed they were good for that. Besides, the Death Eater circles could do with cheering up; a splash of colour here, a few pranks there… Much better for the moral fibre of the group. He shook his head; he'd allowed his intoxicated thoughts to get away with him.

"Were you seen when you unexpectedly decided to stalk me?" he drawled, wondering yet again why he had given them pendants that allowed them to find him should they need him.

"Now I really am insulted," the two mumbled.

Sirius smirked bitterly; so much like he and James had been, it almost _hurt…_ "I suppose there is a reason you are here, Twin One, Twin Two?"

"Of course," Fred scoffed.

"We could be spending this night planning pranks on Snape." George sniffed. "We didn't _have…_ "

"…to come here and give you the…"

"…little titbit of information we've found."

The Black Heir rolled his eyes. "Just tell me. It won't be long before someone notices your disappearance."

"Well, we were out for an innocent midnight stroll," George began…

"Couldn't sleep and all that," Fred inputted.

"When we overhead a wonderful little conversation between Dumbles and Snape."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"From what we heard," Fred said. "It sounded as though…"

"A beautiful little object is being…"

"…hidden at Hogwarts. And that the plan is…"

"…to draw in the Dark Lord and try to trap him, using dear…"

"…little, saint, Saeviour Potter's Gryffindor, reckless stupidity and ingrained need to fight the evil of this world…"

"…against him," George finished, before leaning in and saying in a much lower tone. "Such a beautiful object is also known as a stone made by one Nicholas Flamel." George leaned back. "Snape is completely against the idea."

"Thinks Potter will get himself killed, as well as others…"

"…and really doesn't fancy the idea of an inquiry from the Ministry."

A malicious grin grew on Sirius's face at the thought. "Well, we must prepare for the return of the Dark Lord then, mustn't we?"

The twins glanced at each other, similar grins forming on their faces.

"Oh this will be fun," they said together.

Sirius rapped the table thoughtfully. "Keep an eye and ear out, anything and everything is to be reported back to me in the usual way. If you see an opening to help the Dark Lord that _won't_ get you compromised, take it. This could very well be the moment we've all been waiting for."

The twins nodded curtly.

Absently, Sirius casted a tempus charm; 01:02am. "You'd best return to the castle." He stood up. "I shall go about stirring up the old circles." He gave a short, mock bow. "Until next time."

One of the few remaining Blacks swept out of the pub, his intoxication all but forgotten as he expertly flipped a galleon towards the bar attendant.

Long strides carried him to the nearest Floo Service and handful of green powder to Malfoy Manor. Skipping out of the fireplace, into the blonde Lord's study he sung out,

"Oh Lucy!" A grin appeared on his face. "Have I got news for you!"

And didn't he just.

* * *

 **A/N- There goes another chapter, but this time from an absent godfather's POV. I hope you like my use of the Weasley Twins- they'll be playing a fairly important role from here on out. Out of all the Weasleys, they are most likely to be Dark.**

 **A little matter has been troubling recently; who Harry shall eventually be paired with, if at all. To help me along my way of deciding, I'm going to set up a poll, on which you can then vote. It should be up by the time you've finished reading this.**

 **Last but not least, thank you all so much for the follows, reviews and favourites! It means so much to me to have to go through by inbox deleting all the alerts to the favourites and follows and then the reviews once I've read them! Please, keep it up and tell me what you think. I love to read all your opinions and theories- I also accept plot bunnies! Nothing is set in stone and I'm sort of making it up as I go with a rough outline.**

 **Review Responses:**

 **Mevneriel: Thank you so much- I hope it remains that way. As for who Harry 'killed' well...spoilers. Mwahahahaha! (As you can tell, I am certifiably insane.)**

 **akuma: Not at all. I'm glad to know its worth being cooed over. And don't we all?**

 **dragonkin311: Thank you. Is this soon enough for you?**

 **Chittsu: Thank you! *rolls before springing up into an ungraceful leap into the air***

 **middlechild274: Thank you, I hope this chapter lives up to the previous ones. And, well, here is the update!**

 **JadedKrystal: Thank you. And JadedKrystal, JadedKyrstal, spoilers ;).**

 **Quoba: Thanks. As answer to your wonderful pairing ideas ^**

 **plums: I hope the PM answered everything for you. I won't repeat myself here, but I really appreciate the feedback.**

 **Thanks again to all of you.**

 **-HazelVex**


	5. Chapter 4: A Momentary Lapse

**Chapter 4- A Momentary Lapse**

…..

 _I look and stare so deep in your eyes_

 _I touch on you more and more every time_

 _When you leave I'm begging you not to go_

 _Call your name two, three times in a row_

…..

When the post came, he realised he should've known something was wrong from the smug, gleeful look on _precious_ Saeviour Potter's face. As the owls swooped down, dropping like stones to their masters in order to relieve themselves of the packages containing forgotten items or the mandatory 'missing you' letters, cold mocking eyes watched the rest of the hall spitefully as they received their wholly undeserved mail. Harry's eyes did not see the scarlet red envelope until it was right before him.

Spindly pale fingers delicately detached the letter from the stubby leg of a Potter owl, which hurriedly flew off soon after. Interest sparking his movements, he tore through the wax seal and waited patiently for the shouting to begin.

"SLYTHERIN!" his father's voice roared, echoing through the suddenly silent hall. "NO POTTER HAS _EVER_ BEEN IN THAT HOUSE OF DARK LORD CONCUBINES! ALTHOUGH I'D SUPPOSED YOU'D KNOW ALL ABOUT BEING ONE, WOULDN'T YOU, YOU DISGUSTING FILTH! TAINTING OUR REPUTATION IN COURT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR YOU, WAS IT?! YOU HAD TO JOIN THE SNAKES! I SHOULDN'T BE SURPRISED." The shouting dropped to a sneer, "After all, the Dark's whores attract other whores. Congratulations boy, I hope you enjoy what little time you have left."

The school stated in shock. The Gryffindors were a mix of smug, nervous, stunned, amused; the Hufflepuffs wholly shaken; Ravenclaws disgusted at the choice of language and the Slytherins were furious. This hadn't just been a howler designed to insult Harry, it had insulted _all_ of them. The teachers were shocked, but a few were tense and looking at the mini psychopath, waiting for his reaction.

Harry laughed. It wasn't short or sarcastic. It wasn't bitter or hurt. It was a cackle; an eruption of bordering hysterical giggles. The dark haired doll was bent, doubled over as true insanity revealed itself to the school.

And the school looked on stunned.

It took a while, but Harry reined in his mirth; a Cheshire grin on his face, not that anyone worth knowing to him would be able to place such a label on it. His eyes found his twin's, whose own suddenly weren't so smug anymore. Not tearing away from the gaze, Saeviour sat frozen as Harry climbed over the tables with a confident, maddening walk and a gleam in his eyes that made him want to cower.

He crouched down atop the Gryffindor table and leant forward, his mouth beside the glasses' hooked ear.

"Tell dearest Daddy he should be more worried about the amount of time _he_ has left."

The whisper wasn't quiet. It was a stage whisper. One that carried out throughout the hall; the threat, the silent promise.

Smiling Harry stood up, his gaze travelling slowly over the other occupants of the Great Hall. He knew he had quite possibly jeopardised himself but it had all been made very clear to him that they expected nothing less than a mass murderer trapped in the body of a malnourished child. He never took kindly to being threatened, particularly by the very man he wanted nothing more than to see screaming, _begging_ at his feet… He could make an exception to the guard he placed between his true insanity and the faux insanity. Just. This. Once.

Behind him, the Slytherins stood up as one, so very cold and collected. Watching carefully, Harry observed as they walked calmly but with so much _purpose_ out of the Great Hall. The corner of his mouth twitched; snakes really were loyal to their own.

He turned and his eyes locked onto the Headmaster. He tipped a fake hat, before strolling out after them, a delicious bubble of excitement flowing inside of him for the first time since he had left Azkaban. Oh yes.

The.

Game.

Was.

On.

.

The classes were boring and the teachers were droll so he was restless and impatient most of the week. Everything they tried to teach he could do wandlessly, eyes closed and in the process of having his soul sucked out by the ever caring guards of Azkaban. Messing with the students around him was fun, it amused him for a time, but the teachers, always so fearful, abducted points. He did not care for house points, but he did care for his own skin and did not wish to anger his housemates so that they would see beyond reason. No matter how much he lusted for a little blood-letting to ease his stabbing indignation.

Professor Quirrel was interesting, in some small form however. Not only did he appear to cause Saeviour pain every time he turned round, _but_ something Dark was pulling him nearer. It lingered, traces of it all around Quirrel and beckoned for him to come closer; cold and enticing. Alluring. The stutter was fake, Harry knew, so the question, the only question, was _Who was Professor Quirrel…or rather, who did he have along for the ride?_

Stealing into the restricted section had been easier than he had hoped, taking the books a little harder but nothing a bit of wand waving could solve. He had a small collection running now; enough to be reading for the moment anyway. He should be free of the Trace by Samhain if all went to plan.

Figuring out the Sorting Hat's petty riddle had been trying, however. A nice challenge really, considering the disappointment of everything else. From what he had gathered, Salazar Slytherin's ghost or portrait dwelled in the dungeons; he just had to find the long dead man. Once Slytherin was found, and persuaded to let slip that little bit of information he was most anxious to have, he could go into the chamber.

He planned to go in search for Salazar Slytherin that afternoon. But first he had to deal with Potions and the professor that came with it.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making." The professor spoke in barely whisper but they all heard him, many too scared to do anything else and others too enthralled by the eerie, dangerous melodic way in which he spoke. He did not believe he had ever heard a more perfect way of speaking. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't really expect you to understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads that I usually have to teach."

The end of the glorious speech finished with a scowling snap, startling many of the kitty cat Gryffindors. Harry barely glanced at them; his eyes firmly fixed on the very possible traitor to the Dark but seeing him now, looking at him now, _hearing_ him now Harry could very easily guess where the man's allegiances lay. The Dark would always win him over. Once ensnared by its beauty there was no going back especially by a man whose passion is with his talents and the same man had created spells of only the most dangerous and illegal kind…

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly, before sneering, "The _celebrity_ that is." The class's attention drifted to the arrogant toe-rag that sat surrounded by his lackeys. "What would I get if I added shredded edelweiss to a bare hot cauldron?"

The mudblood's hand shot into the air, whilst Saeviour looked truly stumped at being called upon before his face twisted into an ugly, arrogant expression.

"I don't know Snivellus," he sneered. "You tell me."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," the potions master snapped. "Try again, what are the effects of purified lavender in most potions?"

The mudblood's hand was in the air again and Saeviour was back to simply not knowing.

"Pick on someone your own size Death Eater," he bit out.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor," the dungeon's bat snarled. The Slytherins all secretly shared their gloating smiles, eyes openly mocking the lions. "Again, what would happen if cypress was eaten raw?"

The Mudblood faltered for a moment before her hand was again begging for the attention of a teacher, the only teacher, that would not give it to her.

"I don't know sir," Saeviour snarled, "Hermione does, why don't you ask her?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said softly, turning away the Gryffindors he muttered, "Let's see if the other Potter can do better." He raised an eyebrow at him expectantly.

Harry answered, understanding perfectly. "If you added shredded edelweiss to a bare cauldron you would have a minor explosion to a fatal explosion depending on your precautions, the amount added and the heat of the flame," his voice alone sent shivers down other's backs. "Purified lavender causes a drowsy or sleep effect in most potions, hence why it is a key ingredient in Draught of the Living Death. And finally, raw cypress when eaten can cause slow poisoning, the final effect being inexplicable _death._ "

"Fifteen points to Slytherin," Snape called, before whirling on the rest of the class. "Well? Why aren't you writing this down?"

Penning it down in elegant script, Harry mused on the confirmation. An old Death Eater code that was used by the more public of figureheads…one his fellow inmates had been sure to teach him. Subtly, effectively, Snape had passed on the truth of his allegiances to everyone who cared to listen. Or perhaps more specifically, _him._

Taken together it spelt out clearly; 'My allegiances and devotion are towards the Death Eaters.'

Dumbledore's favourite pet wasn't so loyal after all.

.

The room was silent. The dust that clung to the ancient stones and abandoned desks was still. Midday glow shone through the windows, illuminating what it could in attempt to beat the shadows that were drawn out from the stacked furniture. In the centre of the abandoned classroom was the raven haired boy, with his hating eyes closed shut. He was cross legged, hardly breathing, back relaxed but rod straight and his wrists handing loosely off his knees; fingers twitching every now and then as he searched.

His mindscape was designed to be the one place he could actually remember well enough to know. At age eight, when he had first begun to build, Potter Manor was a distant dream despite the self-acquired eidetic memory. To him it was the house of ruined childhood, neglect and the petty jealousy he once had. Azkaban was where he found others and where he learned the Dark. Add in the Dementors, and it was not a mindscape many would enjoy entering.

There were other barriers, of course. The best and most intricate his mind could concoct and once you finally, exhaustingly got past those you would be met with the onslaught of the aftermath a Dementor would bring to your soul, to your already fragile sanity. He had designed his mindscape to be a hell to all, even occasionally himself.

There was one simple reason he was in it. He'd let go and allowed it to become disordered and chaotic in a brief lapse. This was not something he could allow. He needed straight thought, cold logic and the numbing lack of feeling that came with sprinkling of shallow emotions. The few he really could possess were not ones that many enjoyed. He could hate with a passion. Obsess as though his life was on the line. And possess with a determination one rarely saw. Boredom was something he refused to admit, always scrambling to get his high, his thrill away from it. Love he wasn't acquainted with. Sadness was something that plagued his life and eventually just became as easy and unnoticeable as breathing.

He twitched, Rodolphus Lestrange suddenly looming before him, a wry, amused grin on his face.

"No, no, Bella, not a psychopath," he had waved off his wife's comment about what Harry was growing to be. "Try a sociopath."

He pushed the memory away, tucking it into the endless, never-ending cells he claimed as libraries for such things. If he wanted to be done and still have time to search for Lord Slytherin, he had to focus.

He swept through the narrow, chilling corridors, fixing the bent bars, the fallen links of the disused chains, putting back the occasional Auror's fallen trinkets. Ensuring the scorch marks from private duels were in the correct cells, and on the right walls. That the Dementors that swirled around, dipping and pulling at the building; strict schedules to when they ventured inside.

All for a simple purpose.

He could not allow what had happened the Monday morning to happen again. His closely guarded insanity; he knew very well he had it, all who entered Azkaban had it; had burst through due to the ill-thought, drunken, furious words of a father who hadn't loved him for nine years. He'd shown his cards to early in the game, and it was _vital_ he kept the few little he had left, close to his chest.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes fluttering open.

"What were you doing?"

His body whirled out of years of honed instinct and within minutes he had his wand pointing at the doorframe, where a certain, suddenly stricken, blonde stood. Narrowing his eyes, Harry relaxed and rolled up his sleeves whilst instantaneously pocketing his wand.

"Whatever you believe I was doing Draco, will be the story I go with," he drawled easily. "Unless of course it is unfavourable, in which case I shall deny it vehemently."

"You entered your mindscape," Draco said. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "My godfather had only barely begun to help me build mine, refusing to have done it earlier by claiming it could be dangerous for my sanity if tried younger. How come, you Harry, have one already?"

"My sanity was already questionable," he answered. "And I had secrets that needed to be kept." He paused. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

Emerald orbs narrowed, scrutinizing the Malfoy Heir before them, and then finally he realized. "You wish to know if Ella has one."

Only the palest of blushes tainted Draco's skin, but the boy held resilience and gave a stiff nod. "You caught me."

Harry donned his robe with careless grace, beginning to stride towards the door. "Of course she does. You don't believe her parents would teach me, but not their daughter, do you? Have a little sense Draco, incompetence doesn't suit you."

The ex-prisoner slipped past nimbly, leaving the older boy behind him.

The corridors of Hogwarts were lit by the autumn sun, so instead of walking them, he avoided them- taking as many shadowed passages as he could down to the dungeons. He had, of course, discovered what he believed to be fifty percent of Hogwarts's secret passages before Wednesday, knowing that should a quick getaway be needed that they would provide them. Memorising Hogwarts would be advantageous in that respect.

A person could immediately tell when they entered the dungeons. The walls immediately became darker, cooler, damper. The air froze as though it had suddenly been dipped in liquid nitrogen. Sounds echoed but were swallowed in the darkness. Fiery torches turned emerald and were few and far between. Windows ceased to exist. And of course, to all those who were not in Slytherin, you found yourself in a maze you could not navigate. It was, according to rumour, Salazar Slytherin's doing that the lower levels were like this. When someone could not find you, neither could they find the body you wished to hide.

He had explored 75% of the dungeons simply by a mix of getting lost and learning the routes to his common room and classrooms, knowing each corridor like the back of his hand- something he was rather attached to- and as long as he had not missed anything, meant that Salazar was located in the unchartered 25%. And he was rather eager to find him.

The sun had most likely set by the time Harry came across what he thought to be a clue into finding the portrait. It was barely noticeable and if his suspicions were correct, no use to anyone but a Parselmouth. That was, truthfully, what led him to originally believe it to be a way to the fourth founder. Fingering the engraving of the basilisk lightly, he took a step back, preparing himself for any surprises, favourable or otherwise, to be thrown his way.

* _Open, *_ he hissed.

* _Give me reason why hatchling and I might just, *_ the engraving replied, the markings writhing as it slithered round to see him better.

* _I wish to speak with Salazar Slytherin and reason has led me to believe that you guard a doorway to him. *_

 _*Why would Lord Slytherin agree to speak with you? *_

 _*That is for me to know and him to find out, mighty serpent. *_

The engraving gave what Harry imagined to be a laugh. It came out as a mix of spitting and hisses, as the carved scales shook. * _The master shall speak with you, silver-tongued human. *_

 _*Thank you. *_

An area of the wall shifted back with a sprinkling of dust. He reached out a hand and pushed firmly, not to his surprise, the doorway swung in to reveal a long tunnel with only darkness in sight. Slipping out his wand, he flicked it- a silvery light bursting out of the end. Summoning his need to speak with Lord Slytherin, he delved into the passage, hardly flinching as the doorway closed shut behind him. He had been patient for far too long than to back out now.

The walk was of an incalculable time. It could've been a matter of minutes or a series of hours for all he knew, but none of it mattered now. Perhaps when he returned to the surface to meet with angry teachers that were forced to fake caring about whether he was safe or not. It was far more likely they were worrying about whether or not _they_ were safe from _him._ Funny how being declared innocent made no difference to the minds of the majority. He was still a murderer; a dangerous one at that.

When it finally did end, he came into a sparingly furnished room that was lit only by the silver flames within the black marble fireplace. The floor was of dark wood and the walls a forest green; two plush leather armchairs sat at an angle to each other, mirroring the deep black of the marble. There was no portrait to be seen. Instead, sitting in one of the chairs, appeared to be a very much alive Salazar Slytherin.

He had dark chocolate hair that was cut to a short length and styled into an almost quiff atop of his head. His skin was pale and his eyes were of an olive colour; the facial structure was of high cheekbones and a strong, aristocratic jaw. Long nimble fingers rested upon the arms of the chair in which he sat, and his lithe bodied was adorned in a shadowed turquoise robe. None of the stories did the beauty nor power of this man justice. Despite himself, he was a little awed at the _mere presence_ of this man.

"Do sit, I am quite eager to discover just what you wish to speak to me about," Salazar called to him.

He stepped forward and sat, making barely a noise; his eyes on Slytherin at all times. He knew the man should be dead, and was dead, considering the idea of Horcruxes had not been made until a century after his death and The Philosopher's Stone until much later. So it was only relative that he was a phantom, rather than a ghost. They appeared alive, much like a poltergeist did, though they were not and held much different aspects of power. It was intriguing to say the least, but he would not allow the distraction to divert him from his purpose.

Olive eyes turned on him. "Well, what is it you wanted to ask me?"

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked. "I wish to know where I can find the Chamber of Secrets."

* * *

 **Okay, first of all I wish to apologise for this chapter. I do not feel it is quite on par with the previous ones, but I am not sure how I can edit this further. Remember, I have no beta and therefore all mistakes and imperfections are my own.**

 **Second of all, you may find the beginning to be slight out of character for Harry, but as I have hopefully explained further along, he had a lapse in control. Azkaban has effected him more than perhaps the previous chapters show. Also, keep in mind the Howler, it'll play a further part yet.**

 **Third of all, some of you have mentioned in your reviews pairings you would like to see. I am sorry, but unless you vote for such pairings on the poll, I will fail to count it as I cannot vote for you, and overtime the comment will eventually get lost in the sea of reviews I am already collecting. If there is something wrong with the poll, please let me know and I'll try to fix it to the best of my abilities.**

 **And lastly, review responses:**

 **Miraluc: I hope this is soon enough, and sorry to say it's another cliffhanger. Please don't hate me!**

 **Mahesvara: Thank you, and a thousand apologies for this one. I'll try to make the future chapters better.**

 **Mevneriel: Thank you, and of course not. Sirius is a very strong character and as proven, is very strong-minded and hot headed when he wants to be. I've always believed that his years in imprisonment tamed this somewhat and that pre-Azkaban he would've been more so than portrayed in the books.**

 **habdreas323: Thank you and I'll try.**

 **adenoide: That he does, and he embraces it to the point where he's starting his own little movement, beginning with the twins. As for the pairing see ^**

 **Guest: Thanks/Gracias**

 **Guest: Well, here it is...**

 **Keith the Evil Dark Lord: Thanks, and there's more of them to come... Sounds about right. I feel like Lucius would sigh at this point. It has been seven years since the two first began to reconcile.**

 **Giraffes.1: First of all, I'm loving the username. Second of all, thank you- I'm glad you like it.**

 **Quoba: Your points are valid in that both Percy and Ginny are valid candidates to become Dark, but in the way this story is going, I doubt Percy will be Dark though there is hope for Ginny. Let me know if you want her to turn to the Dark side too and I'll take it into consideration. But at the moment, the twins are my Dark Weasleys.**

 **JasminSky: Thank you! And we're all mad here, so you'll fit right in!**

 **middlechild274: Thank you, and I love them too. They are by far my favourite Weasleys simply because they're hilarious, sneaky and don't care what people think of them and always making the best of things and better.**

 **JadedKrystal: Sorry. Bill and Charlie I haven't really thought about yet to be honest. I feel like they'll be leaning more towards neutral than either side at the moment but that could change. Let me know if you have any ideas on them...**

 **YamiSlade: Haha, thank you!**

 **XxShadowfangxX: Thank you- I'm glad you like it. As for pairings ^**

 **Jeramy-Toombs: Thank you, and here is your more. Sorry it took so long. ;)**

 **Pretty please continue reviewing and a huge THANK YOU to all those who had followed, favourited and reviewed so far. I accept plot bunnies and requests so feel free to check them in!**

 **-HazelVex**


	6. Chapter 5: Always a Freak

**Chapter 5- Always a Freak**

 _POTTER HEIR DISOWNED!_

 _Rita Skeeter_

 _Lord James Charlus Potter has enclosed to the Daily Prophet the official, and immediate disowning of his eldest so Harrison James Potter, claiming it to be on the evidence 'Threat of Bloodline' and 'Traitorous Acts Against Family Personnel and Values' as well as other reasons he cannot lay claim on._

" _My only regret is that I did not do it sooner," admitted Lord Potter at his family manor in Carlisle, "I cannot understand it; perhaps it was the hope that he hadn't done it. That he wasn't what we feared. Apparently I was wrong."_

 _The ex-Potter Heir, recently released for the false accusation and imprisonment for the homicide of seventeen muggles and the incapacitation of three others (see article on Page 3 for more information), was unavailable for comment, however his twin, the wizarding world's hero, Saeviour Sirius Potter, who couldn't be more aptly named, was._

" _He was always jealous of my fame," The-Boy-Who-Lived claimed via letter. "Who wouldn't? But when he threatened the life of our father, that was when he destroyed any hope of being brothers."_

 _Once a family of four, is now three. What more can Harrison do to tear this noble family apart? And is he really as innocent as he claims?_

The offending newspaper burst into sudden flame as Harry let it float to the table. Across the hall from him, Saeviour was smirking. So that was that. It was finally over. He wasn't a Potter anymore. There was nothing left to tie him to them. Gracefully he rose and rather than leave the Great Hall like everyone believed he would, he turned on his heel and strutted with such a sense of power that it fell off of him in waves as though his mere magic was afraid of him, up to the teachers' table. He came to a halt before Professor Snape, who raised an eyebrow in question.

"Will you do me the favour of escorting me to Gringotts, Professor Snape?" he asked smoothly, his gaze flickering down to the newspaper before his head of house. "In light of…ah, _recent_ affairs, I have some business to take up with the goblins."

Professor Snape studied the numbed eleven-year-old before him. The obsidian eyes flickered towards the Headmaster, who appeared to be trying to express _no_ via his twinkling, traitorous blue orbs. This was answer enough in the dungeon bat's opinion. "I shall be by the common room at eleven o'clock. Do not be late."

"Thank you, sir, the favour shall be returned."

As he turned away from the table, his eyes slid over Professor Quirrel's curious gaze; the corner of his mouth quirked and everything was in slow motion. But then the moment was gone and he was striding out of the Great Hall, hardly noticing the Malfoy Heir rush after him, in a decorum suited to a Malfoy of course. He did notice however, though he took his sweet time in addressing him. Time that led up to the entrance hall before he even let a word pass his lips.

"What do you wish to say Draco?" he asked dryly, "I can hardly take the suspense."

"Why do you need to visit the goblins?" Draco blurted.

Though the blonde could not see, his expression was laughing in amusement. Some days the blonde made it _ever_ so obvious that he was a child, and not the adult he pretended he was. "The Potter Fortune wasn't the only gold I was heir of."

Draco faltered in his step, before smoothly evening his strides back out again so that they matched the raven haired boy's once more. "Which fortunes? There are only so many unclaimed."

He smirked, his gaze sliding over the Malfoy. "Now that would be telling."

.

Gringotts was exactly as he remembered it to be. Tall white marble pillars; crystal windows framed with goblin gold; dusted diamond chandeliers; the whole building slightly askew as though the crafters and architect had all been drunk when it was built. The goblins were still stiff and sneered cruelly at everything that dared step into their greedy gaze. He had always favoured the goblins over other creatures he had encountered, which were admittedly few, for this. Harry had always been one to appreciate the ability to make one feel small, dirty, insignificant, a tiny speck on a planet full of gods. Goblins were fine examples of this particular look of disdain.

"Ah, Mr Harrison," Griphook said slowly, looking down from his podium at the malnourished child. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to find your way here."

"Apparently not long at all," he said in much the same tone. "I am here to lay claim over the vaults of Slytherin and Peverell as well as document my being a ward of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Lestrange ad Black."

"The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Slytherin currently has a living Lord," Griphook said, with a nasty grin.

"Then I shall document being a member of the house and the last remaining heir, by claim of magic," he countered easily.

Griphook scowled, "Ragnok shall take you from here, Mr Harrison. Professor Snape will have to wait here."

He inclined his head, turning to the potions master, "I may be a while, Professor, you can always check on your own vaults or pay a visit to the Apothecary or something similar whilst you wait."

Snape's mouth curled slightly, whether it was in a smile or sneer he wasn't sure, but either way it was something. He enjoyed knowing he could get a reaction out of the stoic professor. The professor gave a curt nod, striding away and out of the legendary bank, before another snarling goblin led him down the dusty golden halls of Gringotts and into an office that was more an exceptionally small ballroom. He sat down at the gesture of long bony fingers and waited with as much patience as his tainted sanity allowed him to.

The goblin pulled out a stone basin that had bronze inlaid runes etched into its gravelly grey surface, as well as a long silver dagger than had emeralds glittering in its hilt. He eyed them, already understanding the outline of what he had to do. His blood would be needed, the little formality the closest the world got to the Dark Arts these times, as well as a few pesky words and enchanted parchment.

At Ragnok's instruction, he slashed violently across his pale palm. The blood welled up and spilled in seconds; the thick red life-support rushing out of the wound and as he curled his fingers, into the basin. It collected and he waited for the goblin to tell him when to stop; he did so when it was about a third full. His cut was sealed with dittany, the stinging as it healed barely noticeable as he was watched Ragnok pour a liquid duck-egg blue into his blood. The potion swirled, slowly mixing with the red, becoming a morbid purple.

Moonlit parchment was procured and lain flat against the polished oak desk- held at each corner by baby gems. Killing curse green watched in fascination and self-assurance as the mixture was wiped across the parchment by the same dagger he had used to acquire access to his blood. It danced and twirled for a few moments, slowly receding into tight letters of clear print; beginning, continuing a list.

 _Heir Apparent of Slytherin by Magic and Spiritual Adoption: Lays claim to the Heir's Vaults and other assets in the case of Lord Slytherin's death._

 _Lord of Peverell by Blood and Magic upon 11_ _th_ _Birthday: Lays claim to all vaults, residents and other assets._

 _Scion and Ward of Lestrange by Blood Adoption: Lays claim to access of the wards' vaults and residence_

 _Scion and Ward of Black by Blood: Lays claim to access of the wards' vaults and residence_

He accepted the Lordship ring for Peverell and Heir ring for Slytherin, slipping them onto his finger, absently watching as they melded and shrunk to fit. He looked back at Ragnok before stating, "I want to claim Physical Aesthetics of Slytherin and Peverell."

Ragnok nodded stiffly, summoning the required elements. They were simply two vials of the same potion with different additives; one held the three brother Peverells' blood, and the other held Salazar Slytherin's. The head of each founding family to begin their affairs with Gringotts all had to hand over a pint of blood for future heirs or scions just for this matter. They were handed over to him; immediately downed.

A burning, tingling sensation pricked every pore of his skin as needles before a sudden rush of ice attacked his veins and froze over his blood. He didn't cry out, nor flinch or wince as most were prone to doing as their bodies were forced to morph against the original DNA. He sat there waiting for it to end as though he was merely waiting for his room key in a hotel. When it was over, he opened his eyes- as he had closed them during the process- and wandlessly summoned a full length mirror. Harry stood before it, analysing every changed detail.

His hair remained raven black though became a silky flat naturally, with a slight wave in the top strands that were long enough to do so. His cheekbones were higher, sharper, and his face, chin, longer and more defined. His body had been stretched an inch or two taller and gained a lither than starved look to it; the weeks of good meals since his release had helped in losing the gaunt dead look Azkaban gave its inhabitants. His eyebrows took on a further arched look, though not so much that he looked as though he was stuck in perpetual surprise and disbelief. His eyes were the most interesting however; ice blue spotted in large groups amongst the Avada Kedavra green, constantly shifting a changing as his mood did. He brought forth hatred and anger and the green was back in full force; he calmed and it receded to an equal mingling balance. It was obvious to him that had just succeeded every other first year in looks and he was pleased. Beauty was a dangerous weapon.

"Is that all Lord Peverell?" Ragnok asked stiffly.

"Upon becoming Lord, I was automatically emancipated, correct?"

"Only in Wizengamot affairs," Ragnok answered. "And in court. Lord Slytherin is now your legal guardian; he shall be informed in due course."

"Then that is all. Thank you for your time Ragnok- I can find my own way out."

Internally smirking at the look of surprise on the goblin's face, he left the office somewhat perturbed. He had hoped he would gain full emancipation but now… If the rumours were true, the Dark Lord was now responsible for him. His eyes ran over green; well, he'd better not disappoint his guardian now. At least it was one step closer to find him; to getting them out.

The short trip back to Hogwarts was short and silent, though he answered the unasked question with a short nod. If Professor Snape was surprised by his change in appearance, he didn't comment- whether it be in actions or voice. He doubted he would be shown the courtesy and indifference from everyone else. They were all children. Pathetic, whiny, nosy, uneducated, spoilt, bratty _children_. And he would be fooling himself to expect anything less.

He sneered bitterly as the potions master split off from him and he continued to make his own way. At least his ties were gone. Gone and buried, never to be revived. He had been expecting it. He had been expecting it ever since he'd first heard it was an option. That a family could renounce all knowledge of one member. It didn't stop the anger, the bitterness, the jealousy, the _hurt_ … He had come to tomes with never being loved a long time ago, but existence… He didn't exist as a Potter. He didn't exist as family in their eyes. He wouldn't. Never would. And that fractured him.

"What do you want _Potter_?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing in on Gryffindor's Golden Boy and his two pet bitches.

"That hurt," Saeviour sniggered. "It really did. What's it like to be disowned?"

"Well you would know, wouldn't you?" he said innocently amongst the ice in his tone. "Intelligence disowned you a _long_ time ago." He glanced at the Mudblood. "Tell me Granger, does he make you write his essays for him because he's too thick to string together a simple sentence?" The blush made him smirk.

"You're just jealous," Weasley sneered. "You'll never be as good as Saeviour. Never."

He suppressed a flinch. "You're right. I'll never be as good as. I'll always be _better_."

"Mum and Dad never loved you," Saeviour said. He did it with the air of someone who had already won a battle. And perhaps he had in some ways. But he would always underestimate just how far his brother was willing to go. "You never deserved it. Never earned it. You were always a freak. It was just a matter of technicalities that stopped them from disowning you before. Being a freak isn't a legitimate excuse apparently."

"And you?" That was it. That step to far. Hitting too close to home. "What reason do they keep you around other than to leach off your fame? I fear for the future of Potter, I truly do. Losing me was possibly the worst move you could make. When they die and you're left behind, it'll fall to ruin. Simply because you're too stupid and _weak_ to keep and gain the power it could have."

"Shut up!" Saeviour shouted furiously.

" _Why_?"

Saeviour roared, throwing himself at the starved other. Harry reacted quickly, in the blink of an eye, purely instinctually and suddenly The-Boy-Who-Lived was falling through the stone floor. It satisfied the urge for blood somewhat, seeing the saviour of the wizarding world crumple against stone like a sack of potatoes, though potatoes were marginally more intelligent. He sneered at Granger and Weasley's horrified faces.

"Call a teacher would you? I'd so _hate_ for him to die."

He didn't stay to see their reactions. His magic was spinning angrily, restlessly, just _begging_ to lash out. It coincided too much with the state of his mind. _Freak._ He hated that word.

" _You'll get what you deserve freak," the auror had sneered. "The Dementors do so love pretty things."_

He had deserved nothing. Not then. He had been innocent. Yet they had condemned him without a trial. His family hadn't fought for him. _Nobody had fought for him._ Because he was just a freak. Just Saeviour's older twin. Just that kid that sat in the corner forgotten at birthday parties.

 _Freak._

They had never loved him. They were so sure that Saeviour was the child of the prophecy. That damn prophecy that wouldn't even have been valid if they had all just _ignored_ it. The bigger child. The more powerful child. That accidental magic had been _his. He_ made the toys float. _He_ made their hair change colour. _He_ transfigured the high chair. _Not_ Saeviour. It had _never_ been Saeviour. And the that night came. And then it was though he didn't exist. He was left behind. Forgotten.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Professor Quirrel barely managed to escape the curse. The teacher trembled on the ground, staring at the cold, icy child standing above him; wand drawn.

"Professor, let's just keep those last few moments between us. An oath if you would."

"I, Quirinius Quirrel, swear to keep the happenings of the last five minutes to myself. So mote it be."

Harry inclined his head and stalked away, his robes flaring out behind him. It was only when he reached the end of the corridor did he realise.

Quirrel hadn't stuttered.

* * *

 **First off, thank you to all those who have sent in their suggestions, they were all really helpful and whilst this chapter isn't great at least it happened, and that's thanks to you. Even if your little plot bunny hasn't been used in this chapter, it may yet be used in future chapters.**

 **Second of all, thanks to the 44voters on the pole so far. As of the moment Harry/Voldemort pairing is winning by a single vote so make sure you get your say in! You can find a link to the pole at the top of my profile.**

 **And as I have little to say about this chapter, onto the Review Responses:**

 **armahgeddon: Well...that is an exceedingly good point. However, I am going to put it down to the fact that Harry _wants_ Snape to be a Death Eater and whilst he is wary, he's not paranoid so to say. Plus he has his own reasoning into believing it should you choose to look. Thanks for stating your point though, I'll have to look further into things like that in the future.**

 **dmarti17: Sorry to say that it wasn't up soon, but I'm glad to hear you love it.**

 **Guest: Thank you. And no. Harry is not The-Boy-Who-Lived, and even if he was, he would join Voldemort. Azkaban does things to a person's outlook, (not to mention his first 6years of life) as I hope this chapter highlights a little more.**

 **Rebecca: Sorry it wasn't updated 'soon', but I'm glad to hear you like it.**

 **Miraluc: Thank you, and yes the poll is still open. I'm not closing it until it actually gets to a point in the story where Harry is ready for a relationship, as twisted as it would have to be. I agree, Luna would work but sadly I did not put her up as an option so you'll have to choose 'other'. Hermione is very stuck in her ways and she would never agree to the methods Harry enjoys using. Yes, I do have a wattpad account though I never use it.**

 **Guest: Yes! My Chemical Romance reference! Glad to see another fan out there.**

 **the funky she-wolf 33415: Thank you so much! That means a lot.**

 **Foxy: We'll see about Ginny. It is possible for her to coaxed out of the Light side. It just depends if she can get over her crush on fame. I'll see what I can do. As of the moment, Harry is the Heir of Slytherin. He's not going to be a Dark Lord in his own right, though he will be powerful enough to be one, but more like an extremely prised Death Eater, especially if Voldie wins over his heart on the poll.**

 **JadedKyrstal: I hate James Potter too...really don't understand what Lily ever saw in him. And that moment will come sooner than you think...**

 **Guest: Thanks.**

 **Jeramy-Toombs: Well here is more! Glad to see you like it.**

 **Consultant Timelord: Thank you. Harry is a very complex character and is constantly changing, so its rather difficult for me to keep up with him sometimes as I lose track of where I am with him. He has different fronts for so many different situations and people its maddening!**

 **reveress-plegue: Thank you, and your wish is my command...**

 **Mahesvara: Thank you, though I still feel like I need to.**

 **I hope you all had a good Easter!**

 **-HazelVex**


	7. Chapter 6: Lily's Mistake

**TRIGGER WARNING-SUICIDE-TRIGGER WARNING**

* * *

 **Chapter 6- Lily's Mistake**

Slytherin had accepted his change with sneered approval.

The teachers had accepted his change with wary looks over.

He could never have prepared himself for Lily Potter's reaction.

Everyone had noticed the difference in him after the stinging encounter with Saeviour; physically was undeniable, but his mood was fluctuating, dangerously so. The slightest thing could make him snap; he was on edge at all times, his eyes often in a permanent state of Avada Kedavra; he was frustrated with his lack of progress on Quirrel's stutter; he was calmed in the way he only had to wait for Halloween, before he could remove the trace; and he was amused by one Draco Malfoy, who had situated himself as his 'friend'. Everyone except the blonde was steering clear of him; none willing to come face to the face with the darkness that was undoubtedly within. Even Dumbledore avoided his eyes.

He'd been sitting in the library at the time, books spread out around him as he lazily pulled together an essay for Herbology. Every so often he would glance at the texts around him, and then at the roll of parchment he was writing on, before returning to touch-writing and staring out of the large arched windows unseeingly. Every so often, Hermione Granger, who sat in the Transfiguration section, would send him jealous glares in the ridiculous hope that by doing so he would somehow spontaneously combust. He barely noticed the mudblood however, as he skimmed the surface of his mindscape.

The library was full of muffled coughs, hurried whispers, scratching quills, dispirited sighs and the occasional turn of a page. But it was quiet, almost silent, and so Madam Pince did not complain. She merely watched everyone with her beady eyes, as she set about keeping the library in above perfect condition.

The autumn sun was sending golden rays through the crystal, setting the house of books into a hazy glow that only added to the sense of lethargy everyone, except N.E.W.T and O.W.L students, were feeling. It was warm and comforting that, added with the gentle smell of aged parchment, set about an aura of peace and tranquillity.

It was promptly ruined with Lily Potter's reaction.

The fiery red head burst in, her breaths rapid and her grassy eyes blood-shot as though she had been trying not to cry for a very long time. Her wild hair was in a muss around her head, clashing with the obviously male sky-blue robe that had been tossed on hazardously. She frantically searched around, ignoring the disapproving glare sent her way by Madam Pince, and the looks of surprise from everyone but Harry, whose own eyes had glossed over cold emerald and narrowed in distasteful hate. She flinched when she found them, though hurried over all the same; sitting in the un-offered chair across from him.

He raised an eyebrow and said icily, "Yes, Lady Potter?"

The pain in her face delighted him in some part, as his petulant revenge was brought to forefront. Yes, she should suffer, just as he had suffered, and he would stand by and watch, just as she had done. "Harry…" Her voice caught. "I'm so sorry- I had no idea what James was going to do! You're my baby boy and…"

"Stop."

She blinked. "Sorry?"

He sneered at her. "I am no longer your 'baby boy', in fact I have not been for a very long time, Lady Potter. It is only as of late it has been made official." He leaned forward and hissed, "I do not _care_ if Lord Potter never told you of his plans. He merely pushed forth the documents; you and he had disowned me long ago." He leant back into his chair, picking his quill back up. "I suggest you leave, for I have nothing I wish to say to you."

Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked frantically. "You can't mean that. I'm your _mother_."

"I have no mother."

She choked, and her bottom lip trembled, before she suddenly gave out a sob. "I'm sorry. Whatever I've done- I'm sorry. Just tell me what I've done, and I'll apologise."

He went very rigid, and it was slow as he turned to face her once more. " _Tell you what you have done?"_

The library suddenly became very cold. Suffocating, frightening magic crackled in the air as lightening- a few first years whimpered. Madam Pince was frozen to her spot; she had only felt magic like that once, and it had been a very long time ago then.

"You ignored me. You always ignored me. Everything I did right, was snatched away by Saeviour. Everything Saeviour did wrong, was landed on me. I _lived_ in that _squib's_ shadow." He laughed bitterly. "And then of course, when the Dark Lord came and went, the praise was on him. But you _forgot_ me. Do you remember how long I laid in the rubble, _knowing_ my parents wouldn't come and get me?" He ploughed on, ignoring the salty droplets making a river down the woman's pale skin. "And then it was as though I never existed. On birthdays. At Christmas. I didn't get a scrap off the table as you _doted_ on that ignoble, ignorant, illiterate, incestuous, illegitimate progeny of parents who belong to the class of blood traitor." He was practically hissing now, almost slipping into Parseltongue. "And when I was arrested, what did you do? YOU WATCHED!"

Everyone jumped at the furious scream.

"YOU WATCHED AS I WAS DRAGGED AWAY FOR SOMETHING I DIDN'T DO! YOU LEFT ME TO ROT! A SIX-YEAR-OLD _CHILD_!"

He forced himself to calm, but it didn't stop the hate, the hurt, the bitterness, the rich, unadulterated, _loathing_ to seep through into his last words. "I could have lived without love. I never needed that from you. But what hurts, what has always hurt was that you _never_ fought for me. Not once."

He grabbed his bag, summoning the essay to sit in the safe haven of the leather walls, before storming with the graze of a winter wind, out of the library- his robes swarming out behind him.

And he was right. Lily could see all of that; she could cast her mind back to those years and pull up every memory she had of Harry, and not once had she told him she loved him. And not once had she fought for him. She had never told James off for favouring Saeviour. She had never even remembered to ensure that Harry was with them on birthdays or at Christmas. She had ignored Sirius's begs to spend more time with the youngest twin; she had laughed him off, telling him that she spent plenty of time with Harry. She had _lied_. Not only to Sirius, but to _herself._

She choked, disgusted with herself. Her skin crawled as she tried to flee herself; revulsion scuttling through her veins.

So it was clear to her, that everything that had happened- everything that had shaped her son to be the way he was, was _her_ fault. It was James's too- he would always take part of the blame. But she one of two; and both had failed as parents. As human beings. They had failed a _child_ in such a way that they could never be forgiven.

It was with such self-hate, such self-abhorrence that she fled Hogwarts- not once looking back.

She never made it back to Potter Manor.

She had never intended to go there.

No.

It was in her desperation; it was in her realisation that she found herself in the Hogs Head.

And it was in the Hogs Head, her last breath was snatched away.

The morticians said it was alcohol poisoning.

The library's witnesses said it was suicide.

Harry said good riddance.

* * *

 **A/N- I apologise for just how short this chapter is, and I'll try to make the next one as long as possible to make up for it, however I could not make this longer, and neither could I re-write it from scratch as 1) I've made you wait long enough and 2) It took me long enough to figure out how to start it.**

 **Lily's death was not something I had planned, but it felt right for the end of the chapter, and was a side-consequence to the previous chapter, which I felt just fitted. I am sorry for those of you who do not _like_ this decision, but in the end I think Harry needed this chapter to move on and to get the story moving forward. A catalyst event, if you like.**

 **The extra long insult is not entirely of my own design, but one I drew inspiration from whilst scrolling through Creative Insults' Journal.**

 **Thank you to all the new followers and favouriters, as well as to my reviewers, and the ones who have been here since the first chapter, which feels like forever ago though it wasn't.**

 **Review Responses:**

 **xFarxAwayx: I'm glad you like it, though I would seek help for that; I'd hate for you to suffer from withdrawal should I take too long to update.**

 **inamaxoxo: Thank you. And yes, if it is Harry/Voldemort than he's going to look like Tom, however he was going to look like Tom anyway, purely for the fact Wormtail isn't going to be there to most likely mess up the ritual or something.**

 **Noxy the Proxy: Well, this is what happened next, and then there's still more to come...I'd love for you to share your theories though.**

 **Sheiky81: Neither can I. It's sort of a make-it-up as you go along type story.**

 **Silver Rose Perish: Thank you, and people read my profile? Wow. And don't worry, you don't have to vote on the poll- it was just people were sending me their requests in reviews, which would take time having to go through when I had a poll ready.**

 **Guest: I am sorry you feel that way, but no I cannot. First of all, for people like yourselves, as you are registered as 'Guest' I cannot do that simply because you do not have an account. And secondly, because I do not have the time to reply to reviews the second they come in. And thirdly, and most importantly, I don't want to.**

 **Raven097: Thank you.**

 **Guest: Thanks.**

 **gguest: Very well, but for me to remember you'll have to vote- sorry.**

 **JadedKrystal: It's going to be a very 'how could I have been so stupid' moment for Harry. And Harry likes Bella- the two got along famously in Azkaban.**

 **wolfcathope: Yes, the Potter line merged with the Peverell line but for all intents and purposes a) they were a branch started off of the main line and b) they never claimed the inheritance so now, by right, it is all Harry's and the Potters can't touch it.**

 **plums: He is a very advanced firstie. You hear about geniuses all the time, so I really don't think it is that hard to believe. Besides, its fiction for a reason. And hopefully the bashing isn't so one-sided in this, or at least explain WHY Harry is so biased. Remember, I'm doing this all from the Dark Side's POV.**

 **LittlebigmouthOKC: Hermione can walk away from Potter if you want her to. I'll think up some massive argument or realisation scene for her if you like- but she'll never be Dark, so neutral is most likely.**

 **Mahesvara: Thank you!**

 **ej-83: Will this do? I know it's not a flashback but...**

 **And done, I think.**

 **-HazelVex**


	8. Chapter 7: Why Do I Drown?

**Chapter 7- Why Did I Drown?**

Elladora Lestrange had few beautiful things left in her memory.

When the Dementors came they would take-away what precious little she had, and she had seen so few things in her short life beyond the walls of her prison. Her papa had told her that Rabastan used to be handsome, and her mother beautiful beyond words, and that even he had fair looks away from his haggard, starved appearance; the Dementors had taken away all that too. Her papa told her otherwise, but she knew what beauty could have bloomed as a rose across her features had been snatched from her, just like all the beautiful things.

Her earliest memory of beauty was when she had snuck away from the orphanage she had been left at so carelessly, like an unwanted belonging. They had been on a trip in London, so very close to the concert hall in which all proms worth noting happened. She had possessed a memory once, of the soft strokes of a violin, though she had long forgotten their sounds, and wondered if it were possible she should hear them again. No-one paid attention to the pale shadow that slipped inside, and up to one of the balconies- tucked away in the corner. She had heard the whole concert- the slips of bows against strings, the melodic tapping of the piano keys, the gentle thrums against the percussions and the violent blows of the trumpets and the trombones. She had heard it all, and it became her first memory of beauty.

The next was when the orphanage had insisted upon all the girls 2years and up entering the ballet class held in the dance school in the next town over. The matron had forgotten her, and left her behind in the corridors. So as she made her way through the gleaming walls and marble flooring, the ballerinas danced and danced; she watched with such large green eyes- the memory forever imprinted into her brain as the reason she wanted to learn such graceful steps. And now, the reason she knew not all beauty was lost in the horrors of what was left.

There was only one final memory of beauty, and it had lived with her for so long before leaving. Those emerald eyes, the colour of death- a beauty she could not quite conceive, so she feared it. But in his eyes, in Harry's eyes, it was so soft and beckoning that she would've gladly welcome it, if only to see those eyes one last time. Her brother's eyes were jewels in the darkness of Azkaban, and the sight that awoke her in nightmare, or spoke what Harry could not. It was beauty that had sworn to envision itself to her again, and yet still she waited in the seeping cold of the damp and the desperate.

Her papa and uncle lay huddled in the next cell over, and her mother crossed in the corner of the cell opposite, humming promises in song. She was alone, like her mother, in her own cell. She had been alone for so long, she had nearly forgotten what it was like to share it. She had shared with Harry for a time, and her papa only one year. Her mother had been kept forcibly separate- a punishment to both. To never hold each other, for however long they sat and rot, wasting away as skeletons in the closet of the Light.

.

He was reminded of his promise by the dirty-blonde hair of Emilia Moon. He was reminded of his promise by the silver in the eyes of his classmate, Draco Malfoy. He was reminded of his promise by the damp chill that lingered in the dungeons. He was reminded of his promise by the nightmares that came each night, without fail. He was reminded of his promise by the dying pleads of outstretched hands in his mind. He was reminded of his promise by the petite, elegant hands of Diana Carefield. He was reminded of his promise by the sneers and wary glances. He was reminded of his promise by the scar etched into his ex-brother's forehead.

He could never forget his promise to her. To them.

That he would go back. That he would get them out. And he would do so, with the Dark Lord at his side.

He remembered when Elladora Lestrange had been dragged in, kicking and cursing, by the only human visitors- if they could even be deemed human enough to acquire the status. She had been thrown into his cell- her high cheekbones scraping against the harsh grey slabs. And she had looked at him with those eyes that were a perfect blend of her parents', in a silent defiance, yet plea, of her begging for someone to hear her screams.

His forehead pressed against the cold pains, as his memories slipped to the surface.

 _It was another storm._

 _The bleak grey waves crashed to an unknown symphony against the bleak grey shore of the bleak grey prison. They slammed against the walls occasionally, in time to the thunderous rain and the clapping of lightning that could not even light the sky properly; the bleak grey even destroying that little change. The only colour to break it up, was the colour of the inmates themselves- though they were all fading; their colours slowly dimming, until they too would join the bleak grey that all consumed._

 _He was alone in his cell. Beside him was Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Across from him was Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr. To the other side of him was Fenrir Greyback, who sat alone in his silver cage. They were tucked away in one of the darkest corners of the prison- to be forgotten as the darkest of the criminals there. The most dangerous. They often talked away their days; the parts of their days that was not spent in cries as the Dementors passed over them, or the part spent in exhaustion- eyes closed and breaths uneven._

 _Shouts and pleas broke out further down the corridor- past what they could see. They were a girl's- not a woman's- but a girl's and he couldn't help but wonder if another child had been condemned for their silence. For their innocence._

 _The prison's only visitors came in their blood red robes; the two each grasping a different part of the girl, as she wriggled and writhed and kicked and scratched. She was young. Tiny. Smaller than him, and younger than him. Yet her eyes were age old in their dead, silvery depths. Dirty-blonde hair was uncombed and caught in the breeze and actions of her desperate attempts to escape. None of them cared to assess the other visitors. They were just blurs in the memories they would be left with._

 _The grated door unlocked with a clink, and swung open with an angry swoosh. The girl was thrown in violently, scraping against the harsh stone with a sharp sob. She didn't have time to try and escape, before the door was locked, and the visitors were leaving._

 _For a while they merely looked at each other; one dully curious, and the other wide-eyed and resigned in suspicion._

" _Harry Potter," he offered. His voice was rasp- they never were given enough water._

" _Elladora Lestrange."_

 _Her voice was quiet, but told the stories of a thousand rivers lost in melody to the shrieks of songbirds as they met their bitter ends, and fell in swirling red to the waters below._

 _There was no silence that followed her name; Rodolphus and Bellatrix were immediately pressed against their bars- straining to gain a closer look. Rabastan had snapped to attention, out of the depression that had overwhelmed him for three days already, and curled closer. Both Barty and Fenrir merely looked up and eyed her- waiting for the revelation of a closing curtain._

Eyelids closed over burning eyes, as a deep breath sought to calm him.

No. He would not forget his promise. And no. He would not fail in it. He would get them out. Even if it was the last thing he would ever do.

.

Fenrir had never, could never, condone the abuse of a child; the imprisonment of a child; the torture of a child. A child was to be cherished; to be loved.

Many would scoff at the thought, pointing out all of his past failings, but he had never willingly bit a child that hadn't needed a family. And that was what being a werewolf brought; a family. A pack to return home to. There was only one, whom he had bitten for another reason. But it had been to protect the others, but all the same he regretted it. If only because he not foreseen what the boy's father would cause him to believe.

Remus Lupin had been a misgiving on his part, and he would admit that.

As much of a monster as they claimed him to be, he could not see how they were so different. The had tossed two children into the depths of Azkaban, to forever remain amongst the worse of criminals. He had become fiercely protective of little Harry when he arrived, and equally so of Elladora when she had been tossed aside, to the harsh reality of consequence. Not that there was much he could do- bound by a silver cage, and with no means of escape but the vain hope that the Dark Lord would return.

His amber eyes slid over to the cell next to him, where Elladora lay curled into the tightest ball she could become. Those dark silver depths were wide and unblinking as they stared at nothing; the body trembling and the mind in the same turmoil and creative torture that they were all in, for various lengths, after each visit. He wanted to hold her; to protect her; to comfort her. But he could do none of those things; only watch. As her parents were forced to watch. As Rabastan was forced to watch. And as Barty was forced to watch.

That was all they could do. Watch. Listen. And hope for a moment of sparse conversation between each episode.

He often believed none of them would even hold any resemblance of sanity if they were alone. Their conversations, Elladora's lessons, were all they had to live for. All they had to keep them going.

He sighed, the light of a nearly full moon tingling his senses.

Even his blessing could not give him reprieve anymore.

.

It would be bearable, she had often decided, it would be bearable if it weren't for the Dementors.

They had asked her what she heard- what she saw- when they passed over her, and she had never answered those questions. They could've guessed, but she spoke little of what she had been put through at the hands of muggles, and at the hands of the 'virtuous', and what she had told them was only to answer the question of why she was there in the first place.

She hadn't meant to kill those people, but some part of her laughed with vindictive glee as the corpses were called to mind. They had caused her so much _pain_ and _suffering_ ; she hadn't done anything. Her magic hadn't done anything. But she had been condemned twice over regardless.

So what she saw, what she felt, what she heard with the haunting draw of a Dementor's breath was her damnation; her condemning.

 _It was clinical and cold, though the stone walls dripped red with still echoing screams of those before her. She had been drugged after she had made it evident she would not go without a fight; her body was heavy and she could not move her limbs. The same preacher that haunted her Sundays stood with the same pitying look he always had, as though he personally knew she would drown in the fires of hell. Beside him was another, who was a man of concrete and salted gravel. There were others, in the shadows- each holding something she could not distinguish- their faces were blank and unsympathetic. She would receive no mercy here._

 _Ankles and wrists were chained in each corner of the altar, giving her a darkened view of what was to be her first torture._

 _The water._

 _It rained down upon her in icy droplets, choking her as it 'cleansed' her of the evil. Not that she knew it; she only knew the burn as she couldn't breathe; she only knew her screams; she only knew the harsh echoing voice of the men that stood at her head; clasping hold of their belief that within her the devil resided._

 _She was disorientated when the rain stopped._

 _It was chanting._

 _It was burning._

 _There were prayers spoken._

 _They got louder._

 _And she became more fearful._

 _She didn't want this._

 _Who would?_

 _She wanted her parents back. She wanted the soft lullabies and kind smiles that were but dreams to ease herself to sleep with._

 _Her magic wanted the same._

 _But it took a more violent approach._

 _The screams reverberated against the stone walls of the room; bouncing back at her and fuelling the protective fire that burned around her._

 _Blades tore at limbs._

 _Blood stained the floor and the walls and her skin._

 _She could taste it._

 _And she was stuck among it._

 _Breathing in the scent of seven dead, and two fatally injured. Breathing in the scent of her first murder as it climbed down her throat and choked her in her own terror and tears._

 _There would be no going back from this._

 _And there would be no forgetting it either._

Every moment was memorised and seared into her brain.

She had only been a child. She still was a child.

Fresh sobs racketeered throughout the dark corner of her prison; tearing at the heartstrings of her little make-do family. But eyes hardened rather than shattered.

Revenge could not be taken away like beauty. The Dementors didn't care for it; so it would drive them through the insanity, the depression, and it would give them something to live for.

It all relied on Harry now.

Harry, and his mission to find the Dark Lord, and free them all.

Even if he died trying.

Even if…

* * *

 **A/N- And it is here. At long last, that chapter most of you have asked me for; the chapter surrounding Elladora. I would also like to apologise if this chapter offends any of you- it really isn't meant to. I swear.**

 **I would also like to thank all of you who sent me really nice reviews, saying that you understood why it was taking so long. The chapter isn't perfect, but there is only so much I can write considering. (And only so much I can edit, cut, add).**

 **Review Responses:**

 **mizzrazz72: Easiest way to cross off a name on the hit-list, don't you think? Send them to their grave with a few minutes of shouting.**

 **Guest: I have continued!**

 **vampire moonlight: Apologies, this isn't at all 'soon.'**

 **Gothazon: Ummm, thank you?**

 **adenoide: Wise words, and exactly how Harry feels, and what Lily was quick to realise.**

 **Guest: I love Lily too! Just not in this one... It was time for her to die. And yes! How could I not have Sirius, Severus, Fred and George together? On the Dark Side? With Harry? It would just be awful else. Hehe, good idea for Lord Potter.**

 **Autumngold: Thank you. And I have no idea what happens next, so you're really going to have to enlighten me...**

 **ej-83: Hysterical laughing at Lily's death? Someone who gets me. And yes, the rumours shall be flying now...**

 **JadedKrystal: Aren't we all? He is going to be so annoyed with himself...**

 **Consultant Timelord: Thank you, thank you, thank you, and sorry it is not technically 'soon'...**

 **xFarxAwayx: You got gooseybumps? Yes! My writing goals are complete.**

 **city bookworm: Lord Slytherin (AKA Voldemort) has indeed found out about his ward, and we shall touch more on that come Halloween (AKA Next chapter).**

 **Jasmine Potter07: It is sad that she died, but considering what she did in this story, I have some sort of vindictive pleasure. And James is never going to be a father to Harry- if anything, Harry has just earned himself a spot at the top of James's hit list.**

 **YamixD: Well...I would hate to be predictable...**

 **Raven097: Thanks, and I too am interested to see what's going to happen. Because, really, I have no idea.**

 **Auvro1: Ah. Sorry? *slowly backs away, hands in the air* Please don't hurt me.**

 **Sellsword Oscar: Maybe, but...she's dead now so...onto the next major plot twist!**

 **Charles Ceaser: Thank you, and yeah...maybe a little. But she would've died anyway. Like all of us. It is only a matter of time...**

 **As always, thank you, you beautiful human beings, and plot bunnies are welcome (as without them I have to use my imagination and that's just _hard_ ), and so are any questions. **

**-HazelVex**


	9. Chapter 8: Accidentally a Hero

**Chapter 8- Accidentally a Hero**

The Forbidden Forest was clear cut and crystal clear; the cold autumn air perfectly still, and the trees so tightly packed stood as shields against prying eyes from the castle. The creatures were all silent for the night; even the nocturnal roamers; and magic hung thick in hazy mist. It spiralled inwards, getting denser and denser, until it reached the eye of the storm. It was a small clearing, with a pentagram dragged into the dirt- blood was soaked into the ridges and the spirals. In the centre of it all, a small boy kneeled, hunched over.

Raven hair flopped across his face, hanging limp and damp, despite the lack of rain, present or recently passed. Hands gripped the soil before him- the tendons strained and the bones sticking out beneath the translucent skin, that almost glowed in the single silvery light shining through the canopy of leaves. Sharp pants brought forth and took back, puffs of water vapour, that shimmered slightly in the slowly fading glow of Avada-Kedavra eyes.

Something had happened, something that would send an addictive thrill through the senses and a chill down the spine. Something that would make some of the Lightest, turn Dark, if only to experience the crackle of magic strike them down and make them feel alive for just one more moment.

Not all rituals were like this. Some were more soothing, less of an adrenaline rush. But this was one to throw off the limitations of the Trace, a weaving of spells and enchantments so old that it was solid in its foundations. It was a basic ritual, admittedly, but the amount of blood from the caster needed was enough to throw those that did know of it off. Alongside its Dark label and the illegality of performing it.

A smirk curled the corner of the boy's mouth, his eyes now a penetrating blue though the presence of green remained. A sense of self-satisfaction was present, as well as the knowledge of freedom. He couldn't be traced by the simple matter of being underage any longer, and he was hypersensitive to the idea of spells being cast his way, and his food and drink being laced. There was little chance they would trace him at all. Forced to do it the hard way. The _muggle_ way. Just the thought sent a smile dancing across his eyes.

Slowly he stood, brushing down his robes as he did so, absently using the gesture to also spend the time of freeing himself of all the dirt and blood that grimed him. He then turned to the evidence of what had just taken place, his eyes narrowed in thought. He could not dissipate the magical residue- that was one thing he had not been able to uncover in the time- but he could remove the more visual evidence. He took out his wand for this, though he would not usually need it having grown far too used to not having one, but the ritual had exhausted him somewhat and wands helped to refrain from depleting his magic too rapidly.

Then he was walking, weaving in and out of the trees- paying no mind to what was around him. He knew the way, and he had his senses reached out to detect disturbance, so he was free to wander in his mind. There was much to do still, he knew, but he could not force himself to bring forth the plans for what happened next. The matter of Professor Quirrel still weighed to heavily on his mind- and an instinctual part of him knew that Quirrel was an important piece in the puzzle that was the missing Dark Lord. For he _was_ missing- the ever present Dark Marks on his friends' arms proved Lord Voldemort's continued survival.

Golden light burst through the windows of the castle, though not all of them. There were a few that were darkened by the lack of candles or torches or lit fireplaces, but not all that many. He wasn't afraid of being seen by anyone happening to look out of the window- he knew that they would all be at the feast. He sneered slightly at the thought- it was a mockery of true tradition. Of what Samhain was really about. The feast was filled with sweets and sugar, along with muggle ideals. But it also was an obstruction to those few, those select few, that continued to practise what had so long ago been outlawed.

The corridors were quiet, and his footsteps echoed against the stone walls and floors. And he walked undisturbed and unnoticed, in peace and silence. That was, until he heard the shriek from a bathroom he was just about to pass. He paused, mulling over the idea, but curiosity won out his self-preservation, and he entered.

A mountain troll, for that was what he was sure it was, towered amongst the line of sinks and the line of wooden cubicles. Dust and debris scattered the floor, being sprayed by a broke sink and decorated by the splintered wood of the collision between the large gnarled club and a cubicle. A familiar Gryffindor was huddled in the corner, under a sink. Her black robes were dirtied grey and her frizzy hair flattened down by the arms brought over her head as she panicked and worried.

The troll roared, swinging its club down onto the same sink Hermione Granger was huddled under. She shrieked, just crawling out of the way in time. He narrowed eyes- _what was a troll doing inside of Hogwarts?_ It was travesty that such a historical school had such poor defences. He twirled his wand, _well,_ they would have to remedy that.

"Ah-hm," he coughed.

The troll swung round clumsily, grunting as it eyed him. It beat its club in the other hand as if trying to intimidate him. Whilst yes, he was re-evaluating his own sense of self-preservation, he was not at all intimidated. He raised an eyebrow, a simple enough gesture, designed for a simple mind- the troll's- to understand. As expected it roared and swung down the club- something he hastily side-stepped.

He went through a hundred spells in his mind before deciding on one that a) would not get him expelled and b) was not going to deplete what was left of his core entirely. A simple severing charm would do it, even if it did have to be a little overpowered.

" _DIFFINDO!"_ All of his effort was thrown into this single spell, though a small part was held back should he need to use it, and the idea of being unconscious in front of a school of those who wished him ill was not something he was eager to achieve.

There was a pause where the spell flew, and all three in the bathroom felt it. And then it hit, exactly where it was aimed. The neck. It was in the brief moment of decapitation that he briefly thought over the idea of becoming an executioner- he certainly would be good enough at it. The insufferable girl let out a horrified scream as the head became detached from the body- each falling at their own rate. The head lolled first, scattering across the bathroom floor. Then the body fell heavily against the stone with a thud and a disturbance in the dust.

"You- you killed it."

Slipping his wand up his sleeve, he inclined his head. "I presume you do not need any help in making your way to the hospital wing?"

She gaped. "How can you be so calm?!"

He looked up at her. "Should I be anything else? Miss Granger, it was a kill or be killed situation. What did you expect me to do? Be killed?" He sneered the last question mockingly.

"Well…of, of course not," she stuttered, "But…"

He couldn't help the amused smirk. "Oh I see, the little mudblood thought that the eleven-year-old everyone else had labelled as a murderer when he was six would be fretting over the idea of killing another sentient creature? I see how your logic works, it's very thorough." He rolled his eyes, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going…"

"You most certainly will _not_!"

He repressed a sigh, his whole body tensing and a scowl forming on his cool mask. He turned, coming face to face with Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and a shaking Professor Quirrel. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the last one. He would find out his secret soon enough.

"Professors," he acknowledged tightly.

"What are you doing outside of your dormitories?" Professor McGonagall demanded shrilly, looking somewhat shaken at the scene she had walked into.

"I'm sorry, were we meant to be there?" he asked, genuinely confused, "I thought the feast would still be going on…"

"Due to the wanderings of a stray troll, students were asked to go to their dormitories, Mr Peverell-Slytherin," Professor Snape said slowly, "Which begs the question, why you are not in your dormitory?"

"I was not at the feast, and therefore not aware of the demand, sir," he said simply, "I was just heading to said feast when Miss Granger's shriek spiked my curiosity."

"Spiked…your curiosity?" Professor Snape repeated. He paused, gradually forming an invisible smirk. "It seems we have an accidental hero in our midst."

He just about refrained from sneering. "I think not. Kill or be killed. As you can see, I chose the first option."

Professor McGonagall turned her attention to the shaking lion. "And you Miss Granger? What were you doing outside of your dormitory?"

Granger stumbled for a few moments. "I never made it to the feast. I wanted to spend some time alone…"

"And naturally, the lavatory was your first choice," Snape drawled sarcastically.

Granger blushed. "Well…I…"

"Do not fluster the girl, Severus," McGonagall said sharply. "She's been through quite the ordeal." She turned her sharp eyes onto Harry. "Ten points to Slytherin Mr Peverell-Slytherin for aiding a fellow student, accidental or not. Quirinius, if you dispose of the body, I will be taking Miss Granger to the hospital wing."

"O…of course M…Minerva," Quirrel stuttered, not missing the narrowing gaze of the single boy he had slipped up in front of.

"If I may return to my dormitory then, Professors?" he said curtly, reminding them of his own presence and desires to leave _their_ presence as soon as possible. Though he would not admit it, he had expended far too much magical energy in one night and was longing for the comfort of a bed.

"You may," Professor Snape answered, stepping aside from the door.

He walked past without a hesitation. The second he stepped into the safety of no-prying eyes, he slumped and allowed the exhaustion to mark his features. Yes, it had been a long night.

.

Hermione lay awake in the silence of her dormitory. Every so often she could hear one of her dorm mates roll over in their sleep, or an especially deep breath or sniffle, but other than that she was alone with her thoughts, and loud they were.

Madam Pomfrey had discharged her with the simple prescription of taking it easy lest the shock settle in. That would be when she was in most danger. Hermione hardly thought she would go into shock- she had had her embarrassing, moment of freaking out when Harrison first killed the troll. She did not look at herself favourably in that moment- already she was basking in the mortification. And he had so coolly brushed her off, though she had not missed the taunting amusement in his eyes.

It was all making her rethink however.

She had, of course, heard what had happened in the Library some weeks ago- the same week Lily Potter died in fact, and though it was only rumours she had heard, it had begun the questioning of just what Saeviour, and everyone else in Gryffindor had been telling her. She was smart, she had always prided herself on that, so she knew when she heard the rumours that she had made a fatal mistake. She had taken the word of a single body, and not looked at it from both sides of the argument. Of the feud.

She had never enjoyed Ronald's presence. He was loud and brash and rude, not to mention jealous of just about everything he could not have and could not be. He covered it up by pretending not to care about his grades, about school in general, nor the legacy is brothers were leaving behind them. Though she did not approve of Fred and George's past time, she could not deny they were intelligent, just as Percy was and just as she had heard Charlie and Bill were. She could admit that his inferiority-complex was well-founded but she had stopped caring the second he had lashed out at her so violently.

For two months she had been a friend to him, helped him with his homework. Practically wrote it _for_ him, but that did not stop the hurtful words spewing from his mouth. Saeviour had not said anything, though he had not said much since his mother died, except when he was cursing and cat-calling his brother and blaming him for her death. She understood why Saeviour didn't speak out- he didn't want to lose Ron just as he lost his mother- but that didn't stop it from hurting any more than Ron's torment. So she had done what she had always done with the bullies back in primary school. She had run.

When the troll came in, she had frozen. Her endless study and practise of magic had not helped her when she needed it most and she had stood there gaping as her life flashed before her eyes. She had screamed and run though she had not run to the exit like she should've. Nor had she tried to defend herself. She had been _pathetic_. She had been so helplessly _weak_.

That was when Harrison had come in. He had strolled in, looking so calm and collected- pausing before he took out his wand. He had coughed, grabbing the troll's attention, side-stepped its efforts and swiftly killed it with a fourth-year spell.

And Hermione had freaked.

Lying there in the dark, she blushed still, thinking about it. How _humiliating_. She was the best in her year but at the slightest hint of danger and she was nothing but a child playing at make belief.

Harrison had passed off his presence as curiosity for her shriek. She believed this. But what she wondered on was why he had stayed and chosen to help. The troll hadn't noticed his presence. He could've turned and walked away. Allowed her to be killed. No-one would've known any different. But he hadn't. He had saved her.

Now this was where she was at a conundrum.

Harrison Peverell-Slytherin, the so-called mass murderer, recently dropped of all charges though nobody wholly believed it, the big-bad Slytherin, the Dark Wizard, the _Death Eater_ , had saved her. And mudblood. Someone he despised. Could barely stand to be around.

And so, it was this she wondered.

Maybe Harrison wasn't so evil as everyone made him out to be.

Just maybe, he wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

 **A/N- Sorry this chapter is so short but the actual time period it stretches over was short and there wasn't all that much I wanted to say in this chapter. Things are speeding up now, everything is going to roll into motion. Hopefully.**

 **Now, as I have mentioned in previous chapters, there is a poll for the eventual pairing. I made this a blind poll, but I am now going to reveal to you the current scores as it stands:**

 **Harry and Elladora Lestrange- 50, 27%**

 **Harry and Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort- 36, 20%**

 **Harry and Absolutely Nobody Because He's Bad-Ass That Way- 26, 14%**

 **Harry and Fred Weasley- 21, 11%**

 **Harry and George Weasley- 21, 11%**

 **Harry and Draco Malfoy- 19, 10%**

 **Harry and Random Other Being Even If It's Rumbleroar- 6, 3%**

 **So there you have it. If you want to change it, then click on my profile- the link to the poll is at the very top. At the end of the first year, I'm going to reset it, knocking off the three least popular choices, and you'll all have the option to vote again.**

 **And finally (also massive thank you to all of you- we have surpassed 100 reviews!),**

 **Review Responses:**

 **Consultant Timelord: Thank you. And I never thought of Fenrir to be solely evil and twisted and without any form of morals or goals at all. It just seemed wrong, as though JK was trying to back up the prejudiced views of Umbridge and other like her. Everyone has a background story- even Voldemort- and so Fenrir deserved one too.**

 **Autumngold: Though my heart wasn't breaking writing about Elladora, I was certainly pitying her. But never fear- all will end up well!- ish. No problem, Lily's death was going to happen sooner or later. And don't worry, Dumbledore will have an epic death.**

 **good story: As am I, as am I. I have no idea, so any suggestions on your part will be welcome.**

 **Guest: ...glad we agree on that front.**

 **Guest: Thank you- sorry about the last update being short, and this one.**

 **plums: Is this time-skip enough for you? The next chapter will be set nearing the end of November. Sorry all the flashbacks were annoying you, but the majority were asking for it, and I'm not forcing you to read them. Sorry again, :(**

 **hawkswench: In all fairness, the chapter wasn't about that. But this chapter does touch on Saeviour's.**

 **JadedKrystal: Well, here's more. And I'm glad you liked Fenrir- he's always been one of my more preferred characters...in fanfiction anyway. JK did not do the potential for him justice, no matter how much I love the books.**

 **SandyLS:..**

 **blackraven623: Thank you. It's nice that you understand. I hate putting anything rushed and awful out there and then regret it later. As I am discovering with the Avril Diggory Series- I have literally had to scrap it and re-start I was that unhappy with the plot holes, the mistakes and so forth.**

 **mizzrazz72: No, she shouldn't have. But she did. What can you do?**

 **city bookworm: That is unfortunately her reality. She is completely forgotten by society- all of her dreams rely on Harry now.**

 **lizy2000: Is this soon enough? 100, done. 200- hopefully on its way.**

 **geetac: I have something much more painful than being shot in mind. Harry is going to tear their precious world down around them...with a little help of course. Also- thank you for being my 100th reviewer!**

 **And that's that! Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed, followed and favourited this story! You have no idea how much it means to me that my writing is liked enough to be rewarded by such a response.**

 **Hope you all have a wonderfully fantabulous impossible day (and R.I.P to the half-term holidays -_-).**

 **-HazelVex**


	10. Author's Note

**A/N-** So, hello readers and I want to apologise in advance for what I am about to say, especially as I have been so grateful for all of your support, and it has always brought a smile to my face when I see your reviews. However, it has to be said.

I'm offering this story up for adoption.

Whilst it was fun to write in the beginning, it now feels like a chore to even write a sentence more. I have no inspiration for this anymore and I don't want to hand you work that is substandard or boring because I have no passion for it. There is also the matter of facing Year 10, and alongside it starting my Gold Arts Award (which is worth an A Level so you can imagine the work I will have to put into this). I was pushed for time with the Silver and I'll be even more so for Gold, and as much as I don't want to disappoint you guys, I don't want to have set aside time to continue something that I am at the point where I procrastinate just so I don't have to face it.

I am truly sorry.

If you are interested in adopting, just message me (PM or Review- I'll respond to both). Any questions will be answered, I am happy to send you the file that has it all on so you don't have to copy via typing, and once there is someone willing to adopt I will post on here and let you all know so that you can continue with the story should you desire.

Also the winner of the poll was Harry and Elladora Lestrange, Voldemort coming second and no-one coming third.

Again, I am sorry. Thank you to all of you for supporting me.

-HazelVex


	11. ADOPTED

**A/N-** MissVolturiKingsFan will be adopting this story and taking it as her own.


End file.
